


Time to Turn it Over

by TheDragonofHouseMormont



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rebuilding, Slow Burn, finding hope, lots of comfort, post post-apocalypse, probably a lot more Only Lovers Left Alive quotes than necessary I'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonofHouseMormont/pseuds/TheDragonofHouseMormont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tardis is damaged in a near-apocalyptic event on a distant human colony in the future, leaving the Doctor and Clara temporarily stranded while he works on repairs.  Unable to leave amidst the wreckage and avoid the aftermath, they find themselves among a new community of locals trying to rebuild, and somewhere along the anger, loss, grief, and long days of helping repair buildings, gardening, and other work, the two of them find a sense of peace and hope; for nothing which wishes to stay together can ever be torn apart for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and now we just try to survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally made this as a photoset but now I've decided to expand it into a much longer fic.  
> The title comes from Only Lovers Left Alive. "I just feel like all the sand is at the bottom of the hourglass or something." "Time to turn it over then."

**[[Original Photoset](http://gwendolynnby.tumblr.com/post/133172675452/the-tardis-is-damaged-in-a-near-apocalyptic-event)] [[Playlist](http://8tracks.com/gwendolynnby/time-to-turn-it-over)]**

 

It was a natural disaster. On Arawn it was natural for the earth to shake and split, not along one fault line, but along nearly all of them.

The Doctor internally berated himself as he flipped switches and turned dials as fast as he could. This was supposed to be a relaxing, sight-seeing kind of trip, nothing too exciting, but somehow he ended up landing them fifty years off and just in time for one of the biggest tragedies in the planet's history. In fact, there wasn't much known about this planet afterward, they just kind of dropped off the map for a few centuries before quietly reconnecting with the rest of the universe. Whatever the exact extent of the damage, the number of casualties that far outweigh the survivors, he and Clara weren't going to stick around to find out.

The familiar sound of the Tardis dematerializing surrounded them and the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. But just as he did something crashed into the Tardis from outside and the whole place shook, sparks raining down on them.

"Doctor! What just happened?" Clara yelled from where she clung to the railing on the other side of the console room.

"Must be debris!" He yelled back. "Probably from the building we were parked next to. Hit us before we got out. We should be clear in a m—"

Something crashed into the Tardis again. The last thing he saw was a flame flare up before his vision went black.

***

Three days earlier.

Clara had just walked back from cinema where she'd been to see a movie one her own. She saw films alone a lot lately. It wasn't that she didn't have any friends, she still talked with Adrian all the time at work and she still dropped by the Maitland's house every now and then for dinner, but she just preferred to go alone ever since Danny—

Ever since Danny.

She pushed open the door to her flat and only managed to fit one foot in before hearing, "Where have you been? I've been waiting for ages."

Clara groaned quietly. "I was at the cinema, so it couldn't have been more than two hours."

"Two hours is long enough, Clara."

She found him in the living room sitting on the couch, the Tardis next to the window. She dropped her purse down next to him and crossed her arms. "Well, I wasn't expecting you today."

"I thought we could go to Arawn. Lovely planet. A human colony about 600 years from now. Lots of art galleries and great scientific advancements. The best colony planet of its time." He'd ignored her statement but she wasn't surprised. Ever since Last Christmas they've barely kept a schedule and she's spending more time with him these days than she is in London. That line she drew between their lives all those years ago is almost gone now and she doesn't know why she still clings to it; she knows she doesn't really miss it. He stood up from the couch, invading her personal space because she refused to back away. His face was inches from her as he asks, "What do you think?"

She hesitated, making him wait a moment, but it was just for fun because she knew the answer. Her answer is always the same. "Let's get going," she finally tells him.

His face broke out into one of his massive smiles and her heart skipped a beat. "After you," he said, his hand held out toward the Tardis.

***

Clara opens her eyes and the first thing she sees is a line of trees in front of her. Everything is illuminated by a soft light that she figures indicates that it is dawn. She sits up and a sharp pain shoots up her back and through her neck, almost making her want to lay back down. The Tardis is next to her but her stomach drops when she realizes that it's laying down on its side. A quick glance around tells her that she is in a small grove and that she is alone. "Doctor?!" She scrambles to her feet and spins around in panic, trying to see where he is or where he might have gone.

The Tardis doors fall open and his head pops out, a large set of goggles obscuring his face. He pushes the goggles up and into his curls and his are full of concern. "Are you okay?" He pulls himself up further and hops onto the ground.

She almost answers his question when she notices the streak of dried blood on his face and and that part of his once white shirt is now soaked in blood. "You're injured!"

"Oh, this?" He touches a spot on his head above the streak. "It's nothing. A small wound already healing. I just haven't had the time to clean up."

"No, your chest." She points at all the blood.

He looks down and clutches his shirt. "That," he said quietly. "It's not... It's not my blood, it's yours. Your back. When you fell..."

Clara reaches behind and touches her back, feeling the way her shirt was torn. Pain shoots through her again.

"You probably shouldn't be standing up right now," he finally says.

Normally she might argue that she was fine, but she hurts and feels tired so she simply nods her head and sits down on the ground. "I just. I didn't know where you were and I got scared. What happened? Where are we?"

"We didn't make a clean escape. We got hit too much by the collapse around us and crashed. As for where, the Tardis' flight path was interrupted by the crash. I don't know exactly where we are. We're definitely still on the planet and I'd say about two months in the future. These trees are still standing which means we're far enough from the city and any other fault lines that the earthquake didn't cause quite as much destruction. I haven't gone exploring. Didn't want to leave you here alone."

"And what about the Tardis?" She asks, laying her head back down on the ground.

"She's pretty messed up. I'm quite sure I can repair her but I don't know how long it will take." He kneels down and brushes her hair away from her face. "It might take a few days or a few weeks. Maybe longer. I don't know how long we'll be stuck here."

She reaches up and grasps his hand. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I brought you here and now I may have trapped us. You're injured, the Tardis is too toxic for even me to enter for long, and I can't get to any to any of our food or clothes.  Not to mention the cold.  As you will remember, the temperature on this planet drops dramatically at night.  I had to use your sweater to put pressure on your wound."  He slips his jacket from his shoulders.  "You should use mine for now.  It will only be a hindrance to me while I'm working anyway."  As he says this he drapes it over her form.

"We'll get through this, Doctor," she says because she knows it is what he needs to hear.  "We always do."

***

"Clara, you're hungry.  Stop trying to tell me you're fine, I can hear your stomach from here," the Doctor scolded her from where he held himself halfway out of the Tardis.

"Really, Doctor, I'm fine.  I can handle being hungry."

"But you're injured and I can tell you're freezing, even with my jacket.  I think we should look for help."

"Doctor,  _you're_ the one who said it was unlikely we'd find any help only two months after such an apocalyptic event.  You said that according to what you know of this planet's history, there probably wouldn't be many people left at all and those who survived would probably not be all that friendly."

"I know I said that, Clara, but that was ten hours ago, back when I was a lot less worried."  And he was pretty worried then, but somehow in his desperation to repair the Tardis as soon as possible, it completely slipped his mind that Clara's human body would need food a lot sooner than he would.  He could remain functional for quite sometime, but between her injury and the freezing cold temperature, her body was expending far too much energy and he feared she wouldn't make it through another day.  "Maybe we'll come across something edible and if anything, the walk will warm you up."  That was actually something he was worried about as well - walking would take even more of her energy - but they didn't have much of a choice.

"Oh, alright," she gave in.  He held out a hand to help her stand up.  "Which way should we go?"

He closed his eyes and took everything in.  After a moment he pointed.  "That way.  I think I smell water, probably a creek."

After one hour of walking he had to slow his pace to match hers.  After two she had to lean on him to hold herself upright as her legs carried her.  After three she could barely walk at all.  They'd found and followed the creek, yet beyond it they'd seen nothing but the same tall, skinny trees the entire time.

"Clara, we need to keep moving."

Her weight drops a little more into his side.  "m tired."

His hand reaches around to the other side of her back and he feels something warm and wet.  The cut on her back has reopened.   _This is it,_ he thinks.  His mind can't come up with a solution this time; he'd hoped that if there were any survivors they would have set up shop near the fresh water, but they haven't seen anyone.  They will both die in this wood and he doesn't plan to regenerate.

But then he sees it, a light up ahead that stays there for all of a second and a half before disappearing.  "Clara, just a little further.  I saw a light ahead of us.  That means people."  Her legs straighten just the slightest and they both start putting one foot in front of the other again.

They make it a good fifty feet before she sways again, but now he can make out the outline of two buildings.  They're not all that large compared with the city he and Clara barely escaped from, both looking to be about three stories.  They're both made of stone, but the one on the left is severely damaged with a section of the middle floor missing its wall.  The right one looks more promising.  It wouldn't be much further, so he slips his arm under her legs and picks her up, holding her close as he trudges on. He waits until they are about twenty feet from the buildings before calling out. "Help! We need assistance!"

The front door of the building on the right shoots open and a man comes running out to him, followed by a woman. "What happened to her?" The man asks as he approaches them. He reaches his hands out to grab Clara but the Doctor just clutches her tighter.

"She fell. There's a large cut on her back, probably more bruises, and she hasn't eaten in more than fifteen hours."

"Bring her inside," the woman says, ushering him in the direction of the door. "Quickly."

The two strangers reenter the house first. "Clear the table," the man demands, and the Doctor can hear the clutter of dishes and a rush of feet. The room they turn into is not all that large but is packed with people. There is a heavy wooden table in the center of the room and he carefully lowers her onto it. The woman grabs his arm and gently pulls him in the direction of the doorway. People are filtering out around him, but he is reluctant to leave.

"Franz will take good care of your friend," the woman said softly, and he finally lets himself be pulled from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song "The Beekeeper" by Dessa.


	2. house of the living

Clara doesn't remember falling asleep. She remembers walking with the Doctor. She remembers him saying he could see a light up ahead even though she never saw it. She remembers his arms supporting her, holding her up when her legs just wouldn't work anymore. But that's it. So the feeling of a bed below her and a blanket around her shoulders is more than unexpected. When her eyes open all she sees at first is pale orange, but she quickly recognizes it as paint on a wall. There's a chair next to the bed but no one sitting in it. The Doctor is nowhere in sight.

Her arms can barely hold her weight, but she pushes herself up to a sitting position. She glances down and notices the shirt she is wearing is not her own. It takes effort, once she's slid her feet to the floor, to put weight on them, but she manages, staggering slowly toward the door.  But before she can grasp the handle, she notices a small piece of paper in the chair and walks back to it.  Picking it up, she immediately recognizes the handwriting as the Doctor's and briefly wonders where he got the paper.

_Clara,_

_If you're reading this it means you've woken up before I made it back. I'm fine, I've gone back to work on the Tardis and I will be back this evening._

_-The Doctor_

_P.S. I got the paper from Tobias. He's an artist and apparently when the world was ending his instinct was to save as many of his supplies as he could._

 

Clara smiles at the P.S. and sets the note back down in the chair.

There's a railing in the stairway and she clings to it as she makes her way slowly down the stairs. Faint voices float up to her from the ground floor and she heads their way, hoping they can tell her what's going on.

She doesn't make it all the way to the room before a head pops out of the doorway and gives her a scolding look. "Miss Clara, what are you doing out of bed?"

The woman is probably somewhere in her forties but her long, straight hair is already greying, and Clara has no clue who she is. "What?" She asks in confusion.

"You were on death's door last night," the woman says like she doesn't suspect the actual reason for Clara's question, like they know each other. "Franz stitched up your back and we tried to warm you up best we could in this weather. Though I suppose it's about time you ate something."

Yes, Clara can feel the way her weakness centers in her stomach and how her chest feels hollow. Food sounds brilliant and she manages a quiet, "Yes, please," as her one response to this strange woman's statements. Clara lets herself be led by the woman. "You said I have stitches?"

"Yes," the woman tells her.  "We saved your shirt but I think it's a lost cause. There's a large tear where you were injured and that blood stain will probably never come out." Though Clara registers this it doesn't move her much. It wouldn't be the first item of her clothing sacrificed in the name of adventure.

The room they enter is most definitely a kitchen with windows that give them a view of a garden and the forest beyond it. The woman sets Clara down in a chair next to a tiny table that's probably used for prepping meals. "I'll just heat up some of last night's soup," she informs her.

Clara watches the woman move around the kitchen, placing a small pot of soup on top of a wood stove, before asking, "Who are you exactly?"

The woman laughs before answering, "You don't remember anything from last night, do you?" Clara shakes her head. "It's for the best, I suppose," she continues. "You were in a lot of pain." Leaving the pot alone for a moment, she turns around and reaches a hand towards her. "My name is Penny."

Clara shakes her hand and puts on a polite smile. "So what is this place?"

Penny has turned back to the soup.  "Just a home for survivors. The people here are from all over. There are currently 26 of us living here."

"And have you seen any other survivors?"

Penny nods, but it lacks any enthusiasm. "Not many. There are some people that live out in the woods, but they're dangerous. They ambushed Jacob and his family when they were traveling together, before finding us. They lost a lot of clothing to them. Barely got away with their lives. I tried to warn your Doctor friend this morning, but it only seemed to make him more determined to go."

Clara's stomach clenches in anxiety but she doesn't mention it. "That sounds like him," is all she mutters.

Penny pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down in front of her, hovering near the table and keeping her gaze fixed on the garden. "A community of survivors," Clara half-asks, trying to get the woman to keep talking.

It works. "Yep. We all work together to keep this place going. We all contribute in our own way."

Clara thinks on this and the two months that have passed for them. "Did you not receive any outside help? Some sort of relief effort?"

She snorts in response. "Communications were the first thing to go, and even if they weren't, it will still take decades for anyone to reach us. You should know, you seem like a newcomer. Why come here anyway?"

"The Doctor and I, we travel together."

"Oh, so you're one of _those_ types. You must've left a lot behind."

Images of her gran and dad flick through her mind.  She knows that what Penny means doesn't exactly apply to her.  She understands now that they're in a period of history where space travel can not only take a while, but the rest of the universe speeds on by behind you, so that choosing to travel to another planet is choosing to never see your loved ones again.  It isn't the same in her case, her family is just a Tardis-flight away.  Or at least they used to be.  "I suppose, yeah."  As she finishes her soup, she begins to grow uncomfortable with how easy this place is and how much they've already given her.  Looking up at Penny, she asks, "Is there anything I can do?  To help, I mean.  Around here."

Penny smiles down at her and laughs softly.  "In your condition?  I doubt you'd be able to even help in the garden just yet.  Maybe after a few days of food and good rest we can find something for you to do, but even then Franz won't want you doing much, at least until he takes out those stitches.  As it is, we'll have to watch that back of yours closely for the next day or so to make sure it isn't infected.  Franz said it had been open for too long.  Right now, the most you can do is focus on getting better.  If anything, the twins are relying on you for that.  It's their bedroom we had to set you up in, and they aren't happy about it."

Clara swallows and nods.  She quickly pushes away the helplessness she can feel creeping into her heart.  "So, are you the cook?"

"I suppose you could put it that way.  There are four of us that work in the kitchen and put together the meals; after all, there are a lot of mouths to feed.  But I have the most cooking experience, so I get to play boss in here."

"Is that what you did before?  Were you a professional cook?"

"Not in the slightest.  I was a lawyer before all this... but I lived alone and got tired of takeaway, so cooking became a hobby."

***

At dinner that night she meets the twins, eight-year-old boys named Aiden and Henry.  They're Jacob's two youngest children.  She also meets Franz, the veterinarian who's been forced to take up post as the house doctor.  There are others as they crowd around the large wooden table and spill into the kitchen, eating on whatever surface they can sit at.  There are too many people in this house, but Franz tells her there's plans to repair the house across the way and spread out, and he points at a Jacob and two other men, explaining that they've been preparing the wood and stone for such a project.  Half the occupants smile over dinner, talking animatedly, while the other half keep their heads down and eat in silence.  And there is one young man, around twenty-years-old, who sits unmoving near the end of the table and is fed by Penny.

Dinner winds down and ends, but Clara can't stop thinking about how the Doctor still hasn't returned.  She plays Penny's warning about the forest in her mind, over and over, until he finally walks through the front door at last, long after most of the odd group have gone to bed in the various rooms of the upper floors.  The Doctor finds Clara sitting in the same chair at the dining table that she's been in for hours, watching the entrance, and strides quickly over to her, kneeling down.  "Shouldn't you be asleep or at least resting?"

"You missed dinner," is her answer, and it's clear that she isn't happy.

"I don't need to eat as often as you," he tells her.  She doesn't respond to that, but he reaches down and grabs her wrist, feeling her worry pulse through her.  "Come on," he says softly.  "Let's get you upstairs."

They ascend the staircase together, her left arm leaning into his embrace, and her right hand dragging along the wall like it could keep her grounded.  When they make it into the bedroom, he helps her into the bed, pulling back the covers for her before pulling them up again to shield her body from the cold.  He sits down in the chair and takes a deep breath.  "I've been working on the Tardis all day."

She watches the shadows on his face, trying to guess his thoughts.  "That's good, right?  We'll be able to leave soon."

He shakes his head.  "It's a lot more serious than I could have hoped for.  I still can't tell how long the repairs will take, but it's looking like it will be later rather than sooner.  Honestly," he shrugs his shoulders.  "I'm not even sure I can repair her at all."  With this confession, he buries his face in his hands.

Clara doesn't know what to say.  Her heart rate speeds up and she pushes down the thoughts of her family and life on Earth that he just told her she may never seen again.  He looks so small and vulnerable, the way he's folded over in the chair and hiding his face, and Clara wants to say something,  _anything,_ just to reassure him.  She wants to kneel down in front of him and hold his hands in her own, but she knows it will take too long to get out of bed again and by the time she manages it, it will be  _him_ wanting to protect  _her,_ so she stays put.  "Have you ever had to face something like this before?" she asks him, because maybe if he can remember beating it, he'll be more hopeful about the present. _  
_

"Once," he tells her.  "More than a thousand years ago.  We were trapped on a planet impossibly orbiting a black hole."

"And what happened?"

"Several people were killed by a creature that at least  _claimed_ to be the devil.  Then I found the Tardis."

Okay, so it isn't the kind of thing she was hoping to hear, but she smiles despite the horror of the anecdote, because it's the kind of story that only he could relay, and told with his particular brand of understatement.  "You don't usually hang around," she observes.  "After all the bad things happen.  We aren't usually there to see the survivors make sense of everything and continue their lives."

"No, we aren't."

She lets the thought hang in the air.  At least if they have to do this, they'll both do it together.  It doesn't matter how many years she lived before travelling with him, she can't imagine living a slow, linear life on a single planet without him.  "Are you going to sleep in that chair?"

He nods.  "At least for a little while."

"You could sleep in the bed, you know."  She wiggles back until she's pressed against the wall.  "It isn't big, but it's got to be more comfortable than that chair."

He smiles softly but he doesn't move except to avert his eyes.  "I'll be alright."


	3. an abundance of time

When Clara wakes up it's to see the Doctor still sitting in the chair. He's awake and flipping through the small journal he keeps inside his jacket. "Good morning," she says sleepily. "Is it a good read?" she jokes with a small smile.

She can see the way the corners of his mouth turn up, the smile he's trying to fight. "Well, you know, it passes the time, and we seem to have an abundance of that right now."

 _Oh, so he's bored._ She remembers the massive library on the Tardis and hopes they will both get to browse its books again one day.  The light from the window is soft, still dawn.  "I'm surprised you're not already up and out."

He shifts in his seat a little, closing the journal and slipping it inside his pocket.  "I thought after last night, it would be better to wait until you woke up."

She remembers her worry and feels the way it hasn't left.  "Thank you," she whispers, knowing that neither of them wants to make a big deal out of it.  She pushes herself out of bed, feeling stronger than the day before even though her legs still move a lot slower than she'd like.  She looks down at her pants and borrowed shirt.  "I wonder what I have to do around here to get some new clothes."

"Ah, yes, Penny showed me what happened to your shirt.  Hopefully I'll be able to access the Tardis' wardrobe soon.  In the meantime, I suppose you'll just have to ask to borrow more clothing."

She nods, already knowing that was her only real option.  "These people have been so kind to us, I don't like not being able to give them something in return."

"You mean you don't like feeling you owe someone."

" _No,_ I mean I want to help."

He tries to turn his head so she can't see his smile.  She knows he doesn't entirely believe her, and perhaps he's right.  "I'm sure you can convince them to let you do something.  If they don't immediately acquiesce, do that thing where your eyes inflate - it always does the trick."

She almost laughs, both at how absurd the statement is and at everything it gives away.

***

Clara waits after she finishes eating her breakfast, watching as the others filter in and out of the dining room, eating their breakfast and rushing off to whatever work it is they have before them for the day.  When the last of them have left the room, she picks up her bowl and stumbles with it into the kitchen where Penny and her three helpers have started washing the dishes.  She's never been in here for this task before and sees that they're using two large bowls of steaming water.

One of the helpers, a young man of about nineteen with short, blond hair, walks over to take her bowl from her without really looking at her.  When his hand falls upon it but she doesn't let go, he finally looks up.  "Mam, your bowl," he says, confused.

Clara shakes her head and doesn't let go.  She's about to say something, but that's when Penny notices.  "Clara, what are you doing to that poor boy?"

She feels scolded.  "I just want to help is all."

Penny shakes her head.  "Tobias, let her wash her own bowl and give her a few other things to wash if you want."

Tobias looks between the older woman and her, nervous.  He nods his head quickly and let's go of the bowl, walking to the water with his hand outstretched to her as a guide without actually touching her.  He picks up a stack of dishes from the counter and kneels down by the water.  She follows him with her one bowl and spoon, unsure for a moment after winning and being allowed to help.  He senses her sudden uncertainty and hands her a wet, soapy rag.  "Here."

She puts on a smile, dipping the bowl first the bowl closest to him, the one with bits of food floating in it, before pulling it up and scrubbing it with the rag.  "I know how to wash dishes," she says defensively, though she isn't entirely sure from whom she's defending herself.  He just nods and she guesses him to be the type that doesn't open up to strangers.  She's curious if he's always been like this or if it's a side effect of his civilization being destroyed.  He grabs a second rag and they both fall into a pattern, grabbing dishes from the stack.

"So, Clara," Penny's voice cuts through the silence.  "What did you used to do before coming here?"

"I was a teacher," she says, a little proud.

"What did you teach?"

"Literature."

"And you and the Doctor, are you—"

"No," Clara cuts her off.  "He's..." but she finds herself lost for a word.  "We're best friends."  Yes, that's the word she always uses to describe what they have, though when she thinks back on their history which spans the two thousand years of his life, she knows it isn't enough.

Penny just continues.  "So what are you running from?"

That throws Clara off.  "Running from?"

"I've never met someone like you who wasn't running from something."

Clara's movements still as she thinks about this.  Was she running from something?  "I just wanted to travel," she says quietly, but she's still thinking about it.  When she first began travelling with the Doctor, she'd been living with the Maitlands for a year.  A year after their mother died.  Eight years after her mother died.  "I have this book on 101 Places to See.  It was my mother's.  She's dead now."

"Is that why you left?"

"Not exactly."  It isn't everything.  Maybe it was just death in general.  Her mother, her friend, Danny.  With all the travelling, she can't be entirely sure, but she thinks it's been a year since he died.

_Why do you fly off in the box with him?_

_Because it's amazing._

And it is amazing.  It's beautiful and wonderful - she can't imagine living life in one place anymore, not when there's an entire universe out there.  But she feels tired.  When she thinks of Earth she thinks of the graves she visits.  Running doesn't change that, it just gives her more death, more graves she wants to avoid.  She was tired before the Doctor ever showed up on her doorstep dressed as a monk.

The air has turned still and quiet around them and Penny thankfully changes the subject.  "We're hoping to set up a school in the next month or two," she says.  "Maybe there'll be room for you to help out."

There's a war of emotion in Clara's chest.  Will they still be here that long?  It's more than possible, even if she doesn't want to commit to that possibility.  Still, it appeals to her need to do something, should they still be stuck.  She smiles, half forced, and says, "Yeah, maybe."

Once she and Tobias have washed the dishes and the others have dried and put them away, she stands up, her shirt soaked in places and her fingers feeling pruny.  Penny notices her shirt.  "We'll see about finding you something new to wear and washing those."

"Only as long as I get to help with the washing."

Penny gives in with a smile.  "Alright, we'll let you help out more around here.  Right now though, we should probably take you to Franz to check those stitches of yours, make sure everything is still clean and healing.  I've seen infection and it isn't pretty."

***

Two Hours Before the Earthquake

The bookstore they'd stepped into was crowded, but large enough that the people were easier to ignore.  The Doctor watched as Clara's face lit up brighter than he'd seen it in a while.  He stood still for a moment, watching as she took in the sight of rows of modern bookcases and the two levels above them.

Finally, her eyes settled back on him.  "Can't this damage the space-time continuum or something?"

"Of course not.  Clara, you see future events everyday, there's no harm in reading future books."  There could be harm, but he knew her well enough to know that the books would be safe with her.  Clara was good at keeping the future a secret.  "I thought it would be nice buy a couple.  This is, after all, a planet known for its great art, and that includes literature."

"But you never carry money."

He held up his sonic sunglasses.  "That's why I stopped at the ATM outside."

She shook her head, but he could see that she was on the verge of laughter.  "Isn't that stealing?"

"It's only a little, I doubt they'll notice.  Besides, this culture doesn't place much stock in money, it's really only a means of acquiring more books or paintings or microscopes."

"Sounds like a great planet," she said, bouncing off down an aisle.  They ended up in 'classics,' the books there all published long after her own era.  He recognized a few of the titles and pointed out the ones he enjoyed the most.

Despite the store being busy that day, everything felt calm, like no weight rested on his shoulders in that moment.  Like he didn't need to be afraid, and so he wasn't.  The moment felt clear, he was sitting on the floor with Clara, pouring over paperback books in the warm light.  She eventually decided on a book called "The Home of Winter" by a writer named Edward Kidd who'd died on that planet about 150 years before, and a book of poetry called "Water in Sunlight" by a woman named Alis Argall.

As they walked up to the counter, she started speaking in that quick way that off all the people he's ever met, seems to be unique to her.  "They're classics, old for this era, but they're still in my future which means the prose style, while likely outdated for the here and now, I expected will still be quite different from what I'm used to because prose styles evolve.  Unless... The only reason I'm even able to read these books - seeing as we're not in an English speaking country on Earth during the 21st century and the people here do not speak English - is the fact that the Tardis is in my head, translating.  Will she translate the prose style into something I'm more familiar with as well?  Maybe I should just learn the language that these books are actually in and try reading them that way."

He laughed softly, his hand reaching out automatically to rest on the arm that wasn't holding the books.  He knew in this body they didn't touch often, and hoped that she wouldn't notice how much his touching her had increased.  He also knew that hope was pointless, of course she noticed.  But if she noticed in that moment, she didn't say anything, so instead he attempted to respond.  "Maybe you should!  That is, if we're ever to find the time for learning languages.  I probably have a book on it somewhere in the library."

Her nose wrinkled slightly.  "Yeah, you're right, I probably won't have the time.  Between the running, the teaching, the grading, and the lesson planning, I'll barely have the time to read these with the Tardis' help."

His smile faded slightly.  "Maybe one day."

***

The Doctor makes his way up the stairs to her room, telling himself the steps shouldn't be as heavy as they are.  When he pushes open the door, he sees her sitting on the bed in the dark, staring out through the window.  "Been getting rest?"

"And work," she says triumphantly.

"I knew you wouldn't fail to convince them."  A small bit of tension leaves his shoulders when he sees how much better she is now than last night.  She looks stronger, steadier, though still quite tired.  "I see you also managed to get a change of clothes."  The shirt is a little too big on her and as she sits atop the covers, he can see the way the bottom of the pants are bunched up around her ankles, too long for her short legs.

"Yep, and I made them let me help with washing the old ones."

It's hard not to find that a little funny, but he makes sure not to laugh.  "Never one to just sit back and let people take care of you."  He knows there's guilt in there somewhere and wishes he knew where it came from.  He sits down on the edge of the bed, close enough to take her hand but not doing so.  "We need to talk about something."

His tone is serious and she can tell.  "What about?"

He doesn't want this conversation, but it's an important one to have, so he refuses to move his eyes from hers.  "The reality of what being stuck here really means.  Even assuming I can repair the Tardis, the amount of time that task takes won't matter to me.  It could take a hundred years and it wouldn't matter to me.  Your life span is so much smaller than mine.  There's a reason I wouldn't let you stay with me on Trenzalore and this is it.  At best you have seven decades."

"We already talked about this yesterday.  I already know I might be stuck here for the rest of my life."  She swallows hard.

"We didn't discuss it, not really, and if you are stuck here for the rest of your life, as long as the Tardis may be repaired,  _I'm not._ "

Her eyes search his and he thinks he knows what she's looking for.  "No matter what happens, whether we're here or out there travelling, seven decades is all I have anyway."

"I just," he finally breaks his gaze, staring at the blanket beneath them.  "I don't want to leave this planet without you."

She's the one who reaches for his hand, holding it gently.  Perhaps she picked up on the fear he's been trying to hide, even as he speaks now.  "Then you better fix that Tardis or accept that's exactly what's going to happen."

***

She wakes up to the Doctor gently shaking her shoulders.  "Clara, wake up."

Her eyes open and she sits up quickly, her heart beating fast and her body readying for whatever fight there is before them.  "What's going on?"

"There are people here."

She gets up and they walk down the stairs together, other members of the house behind them.  There are already ten people downstairs gathered in the entrance room.  She and the Doctor walk outside to see Penny standing at the road, talking to someone from another group of people, none of which she recognizes.  The group is large, though not quite as large as the one that lives in the house; probably about fifteen people.  She can't hear the conversation, but makes no effort to move closer.  She may be sleeping in a bed here, eating their food, and helping with the washing up, but she still feels like an intruder.

They stand next to the door watching and about ten minutes later Penny walks back to the house and addresses everyone that's crowded into the room.  "These people need food and shelter.  They're going to stay with us."  She says the words with a finality that no one will dispute right now, but her face is wary.

Things are going to change around here, Clara can tell.  Starting this very night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a playlist for this fic http://8tracks.com/gwendolynnby/time-to-turn-it-over


	4. a diamond in the sky

There is a buzz of energy running through the household, the kind of energy that keeps you uncomfortably on edge, and Clara can't go back to sleep.  She sits in a chair in the main room and watches the people around her.  The newcomers are tired, that is the most obvious thing about them as they pile into the house, several of them sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall while the others do the talking.

The Doctor is already gone.  She remembers the worried and anxious look in his eyes upon the group's arrival and his muttered "I need to think," before he disappeared into the woods.  It's only a couple of hours before dawn and she tries not to worry.

She's barely paying attention as it is, the energy making her restless, but she catches little bits of  _we'll have to be careful in rationing the food_ and  _the garden will need to be expanded._ There's talk of space and how they'll need to complete the restoration of the house across the street as soon as possible.  It's at this that Clara glances up.  "We can help with that," a rather strong looking woman adds.  "If you've got the supplies, we'll work for our keep."

Clara stands up now, walking to the center of the room where they're talking.  "I'd like to help," she pipes in.

"I don't think that's a good idea."  The voice comes from a couple of people over and when Clara finds his face, she recognizes him as Franz, the doctor who's actually a veterinarian.  "You've only just recovered your strength and you need to be gentle while you still have those stitches."

Clara keeps herself from rolling her eyes, instead just half-smiling as she tells him, "This is important.  We need the space and after everything you've done for me, it's time I put in some real effort into working around here.  I'm sure there are things I can do that won't harm me."

Turns out she's right.  As soon as breakfast is through, she heads across the way with several other people.  She recognizes Jacob and two others that had been working on gathering supplies, the woman that had been talking, and a lot more people that she doesn't recognize from both the occupants of the house and the new group.  They don't let her do anything too heavy, she just gets to carry and hold things, which bores her at first, but soon enough she's running back and forth through the ruined house carrying various tools to different workers or using all her strength to help hold wood while someone else hammers it into place.  By the time they break for lunch she's sweaty and covered in dirt.

She knows she's misjudged her strength, that while normally this wouldn't be too difficult for her, it is for now.  But she's glad for how gross she feels, it beats sitting in a bed all day and wasting time.  At least she's helping, not imposing, and when they leave this place she can look back at it and know she did something.

If they leave this place.

It takes her a moment to remember that isn't a guarantee this time.  That's how it's supposed to be, how it always is - they go somewhere, help out, and then leave.  That's the plan and she's still a little too used to it.

Lunch ends and they get back to work.  If it's becoming too much of a strain on her, Clara doesn't say anything, doesn't make a single complaint.  When evening arrives and it's time for dinner, she feels ready to drop.  All she wants to do is go to sleep, but she attends dinner anyway knowing her absence would be noted, and she doesn't really want to wake up hungry the next day anyway.

Dinner starts off tense.  There are way too many people now and they fill both the main room and the dining room, half of them sitting on the floor.  She takes a seat on the floor in the main room as well, feeling slightly self-conscious about how bad she is certain she must smell.  Before long she hears laughter spill out from the dining room and the atmosphere gets a little lighter.  It sets off like a chain reaction, people in the main room begin to congregate and hold conversations, hushed at first before filling the room.  She doesn't say anything, doesn't really join a group, but she listens in and occasionally laughs quietly at something someone says.

As dinner winds down a little of the tension returns; the original house occupants head up to their rooms while the new guests look a bit lost.  Franz finds her as she's standing up to take her plate to the kitchen.  "Clara, good, I've been looking for you.  We need to put people in your room, just a couple.  The twins will stay with their family, but with the increase—"

"Don't worry," she interrupts.  "I completely understand."

"It's just for tonight, hopefully, depending on how quickly the second house is finished."

"Like I said, it's fine."  She hopes it's fine.  It'll be a bit cramped surely, and the Doctor won't like it at all.  Franz nods and turns to go but Clara stops him.  "Wait, I was wondering about something."

"Yes?"

"Is there anyway I could have a bath?  I know I'm gross right now."

He thinks for a moment.  "It's been long enough for the stitches, so a bath shouldn't be a problem.  Just make sure you don't scrub them at all."  It takes him another moment to absorb the entirety of her question.  "We don't have running water in the house, as I'm sure you're aware.  You'll need to walk to the creek to gather water and heat it up in the kitchen, but we do have bathtubs."

Clara smiles.  "Thanks, I know where I can get some help."  She takes her plate to the kitchen where she finds the same four people she expected.  "I need help getting water for a bath and I'm willing to wash dishes here first in exchange."

Fortunately, Penny takes her abrupt offer good-naturedly and sits her down washing utensils.  After she's handed a metal bin large enough that she could probably sit down in it if she really tried and the assistance of one of her helpers.

She carries the bin herself as they walk out into the night.  "Tobias, right?" she asks to break the silence.

"Yep," he mumbles.

She considers the name for a moment before realizing she should have recognized it when she met him yesterday.  "You're an artist, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he turns to look at her.  "How did you know?"

"The Doctor told me."

He nods.  "Of course, I should have figured that one out."

"You paint?"  He nods again.  "What do you paint?"

"Landscapes, mostly."

She laughs a little.  "This place should be great for you, then.  It's beautiful here."

"That it is," he replies, but his voice sounds sadder than hers.  She thinks the conversation is over until he suddenly speaks again.  "At least I have my supplies."

She knows that wasn't what he meant to say, that there's more, but she doesn't want to push it.  They reach the creek and try to lower the bin in the water while remaining dry.  She still gets wet halfway up her calves.  The water is cold and dirty in the way she expects creek water to be, but if she had a guess, she'd say it's cleaner than she is and that's all that matters.  The bin full, they both take a handle and make their way carefully back to the house.

"My mum died several years ago," she offers into the silence.  "I thought it broke me at the time.  I thought I'd never be anything but sad again."  He doesn't say anything in response, just watches her face.  "Sometimes, I wonder if I was right.  Logically, when I really think about it, I know I wasn't, because I can remember laughing at something, enjoying something, but when I'm sad it's like that's the only emotion I can feel.  It blots out everything else."

"Did you lose someone when..."

She shakes her head, understanding his question.  "I'm not from here.  But a year ago my boyfriend died.  It was an accident, though it was partially my fault.  It's... I don't know if we really had a future; I was a terrible girlfriend, I lied to him a lot.  But I still cared, you know?  I still loved him.  I just, I wish he'd lived, that he'd had the chance to meet someone else, someone who deserved him."

Tobias swallows, taking her story in.  "My parents," he says simply.  "They died when it happened.  I wasn't there."

There's a story there, but she doesn't ask for it.  They take the water into the kitchen and set it above the stove where a fire still burns.  It's a lot of water, but it doesn't take too long for it to heat up.  He shows her to a bathroom on the ground floor while they heft the water between them.  They lift the bin up together, pouring its contents into a very old looking tub.  "Wait a minute," he says and he leaves the room.  When he returns it's with a towel in hand.  "Here," he says softly.  "Goodnight."

Alone in the bathroom, Clara strips her dirt covered and sweaty clothes, realizing that she doesn't have anything clean to wear just yet and will have to put them back on after she is clean.  She slips into the hot water and immediately feels better for it.  She closes her eyes, leaning back in the water.  The heat sinks into her tired muscles, her body which has experienced too much in too short a time.

Slipping further into the water, she reaches up and scrubs her hair, feeling the way it flows beneath the surface.  She rises after a few seconds and tries to relax for a little while.  There are too many thoughts on her mind, thoughts all about this place and whether or not she's stuck here for the rest of her life, but now that she's away from all the people, sitting in this small room so separated from everyone else, she manages to push those thoughts away, if only for a few minutes.

She scrubs the dirt from the rest of her skin and simply sits in the water until it begins to grow cold around her.  She wonders if the Doctor is back now, knowing that enough time has passed and he definitely should be.  She rises from the water and reaches for the towel.  She doesn't know what she's supposed to do about the bathwater and decides to ask someone tomorrow morning, as everyone is probably asleep by now.  Once dry, she pulls the dirty clothes back on and makes her way up the stairs to her room.

She pushes the door open slowly, but once inside she only sees the faces of two strangers asleep on top of the covers.  The Doctor should be back by now and she heads back downstairs, fully prepared to sit in a chair and wait until he returns again.  Before she even takes a seat, the quiet of the room starts to bother her and she goes outside, deciding to find him and drag him back to the warmth of the house if she has to.

Outside a small, shuffling sound catches her attention and she turns to find the Doctor sitting on a stack of wood by the second house.  She wraps her arms around herself and walks to him.  "What are you doing out here?"

"Too many people," he says without meeting her eye.

"So you're going to sit outside all night?"  He shrugs his shoulders in response.  "Okay then," she says and she takes a seat next to him.  They don't say anything and she remembers his fears from yesterday.   _I don't want to leave this planet without you._ The words tug at her heart and she looks up at his face which is currently turned from her.  Seven decades.  That's approximately how much time she has to live, provided nothing bad comes along to take any of that away from her.  It feels like the world to her, but then she remembers last Christmas and the nightmare of having lived 62 years alone.  But that was the problem, wasn't it?  The alone bit.  It was spending all that time without him.

She studies his silent face, her eyes tracing the familiar paths of all the lines, drifting up to his gray curls which have gotten so much longer.  What is he to her, she wonders.  She can't imagine a life with him like the one she imagined with Danny.  He's not the type to stay in one place and live a normal life, current circumstances aside.  When she really thinks about it, she doesn't think she's that type of person either.  It had always been Wednesdays only, a way to keep normalcy in her life, keep her grounded.  But maybe staying grounded wasn't the best decision after all.  She knows now more than anything that she doesn't want to spend the next 62 years alone.  She wants to spend the rest of her life with him, in whatever way that might mean.

"Doctor?"  At the sound of her voice, he looks down at her, meeting her gaze.  "Before we came to this planet, I was at the cinema, remember?"  He nods.  "Well, the movie I saw, they talked about something called entanglement."

"Quantum entanglement?  It's when you can't describe the quantum state of certain particles as being independent from each other."

The words she intended to say disappear from her mouth immediately.  "I suppose so, they said it better in the film.  Sounded nicer."

The Doctor clears his throat, realizing he has seemingly missed the point of something.  He looks back down at her.  "I'm sorry.  Tell me about something else from the film then."

She doesn't think he's really all that interested in the film, but she can tell he wants the conversation, so she tries to remember something else that's interesting.  "One of the characters said there's a white dwarf made of diamond that emits a sound like a giant gong."

He laughs at that.  "I've seen it actually, it's in the constellation Centaurus."  His smile lights up his whole face as he holds her gaze.  "The universe is incredible," he says so gently that she's not sure he's still talking about a white dwarf.

She scoots closer to him until she can comfortably lean her head on his shoulder.  "If we finally get to leave here, that's the first place we're going."

"Deal," he says, and he leans his head down so that it rests atop hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That white dwarf is real. It's known as BPM 37093 or Lucy.  
> Also, reading about quantum entanglement is strangely like reading a very romantic poem.  
> And if you didn't catch it from the story tags, the film she's talking about is Only Lovers Left Alive.


	5. the stars around us

As expected, Clara hasn't seen the Doctor since breakfast that morning.  It's been hours since then and she's exhausted, but finally the roof of the second house has been repaired and now completely blocks out the too warm sunlight that competes with the chilly air and frustrates her to no end.  The rooms don't have proper windows, instead they've been loosely boarded up in a way that can protect against the cold but be removed easily whenever someone might want a view of the outside or natural light.  With the lack of electricity, natural light is their best, most resource-saving option during the day and she imagines those windows will be left open frequently.

Yesterday was tiring, but today her muscles are stiff and ache from the previous day's exertions and the whole thing feels like hell, but as the rebuilding nears completion - or at least complete enough - she feels excited.  There's a sense of success settling inside her as well as camaraderie.  They have all accomplished this together.

When the whole house is as finished as it will be, everyone that has been working is sweaty and tired, but smiling.  Some of them head off to the creak together, planning on just swimming in it instead of going through the trouble of bringing the water back and working about the limited number of tubs.  Clara just sits down where she's been standing, hidden from the sun in a little sliver of shade, her back against the stone wall of the house.  She hears the front door open and then close a moment later, the sounds accompanied by footsteps, but she doesn't look toward them until the feet are standing right in front of her.

It's Jacob.  She hasn't spoken with him much since her arrival, but he seems like a good person, like he's held up well through everything that's happened to this planet.  "Don't you want to see your new room?"

She blinks once, twice, and then replies, "My room?"

"Yeah," he smiles, holding out a hand to help her up.  She takes it and pulls herself to standing.  "Aiden and Henry really want their room back," he laughs.  "Besides, you've earned it.  You and the Doctor will still have to share though, I hope that's alright."

"Of course it is."  She doesn't even hesitate at the thought.  She can't imagine them sleeping in separate rooms right now; if they did she knows she would find her way to him in the middle of the night or he would find his way to her.  Her world has been thrown off and she feels safest next to him.  Sleeping in the same room is just more convenient.

He leads her to a somewhat small room on the second floor.  There's no furniture, which isn't surprising.  It will be nice having a little space all to themselves.  It won't be too comfortable sleeping on the floor, but the boards covering the window and their clothes will keep them warm enough.  She's experienced worse.  "It's wonderful.  Thank you."  And she means it.

***

With so many more people, more food has to be prepared, but fortunately there are also more people to help prepare it.  Clara barely catches a glimpse of the kitchen that evening and the nine or ten people rushing around in it, before being kindly ordered by Penny to leave.  She makes her way back outside where the large table sits in the middle of the road between the two houses and several smaller tables and desks have been set up together on either side of it.  Apparently, despite how cold the nights have been recently, they aren't as cold as the nights  _will_ get in the very near future as they creep steadily towards winter.  After everyone had tried crowding into the first house for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, they've decided to take advantage of the relatively warm evening and eat outside together.

Candles have been set up on all the tables, unlit while the sun is still out.  The sight makes Clara smile.  She pulls her sweater tighter around her as the temperature begins to drop and leans on a fence as she waits.

It isn't long before the food is brought out and all forty something people start taking chairs.  Clara ends up in a seat near the end of the main table and after dinner is served, the seat next to her is taken by Penny.  On the other side of Penny, a chair sits at the corner of the table and a woman helps the vacant-eyed young man into the seat.  The woman then leaves, taking a seat near the other end of the table.

Clara stars to eat her food, but her attention is so consumed with Penny and the silent, still young man that her fork ends up laying next to her plate.  "What happened to him?" she asks Penny.

Penny shrugs.  "None of us know.  Deryn found him."  She points to the woman that had helped him sit down.  "She actually made it out of the city carrying her daughter on her back.  I wasn't there, but I've heard the stories.  Between the way the ground was torn apart into gaping holes and the way people tend to act when they're scared, the whole thing sounds like a nightmare.  Those that escaped, I don't know how they did it; I have a lot of respect for them.  But Deryn, she was making her way out of the city when she found him lying on the ground.  She thought he was just another dead body, but then she saw him breathe.  She couldn't get him to stand on his own or walk on his own, and he never said a thing.  But she wouldn't leave him behind, just dragged him along until she had pulled them all to safety.  They've been here for about a month and we all take turns looking out for him.  We've named him Isaac."

Clara looks back down at the woman, Deryn.  Her daughter is in her lap and can't be more than two years old.  Two months is not that long of a time.  She looks around at the other faces at the table, studying them.  There are too many smiles.  Some of them, like Jacob's, are genuine, but too many of them aren't.  Clara is a liar, she can tell when someone's lying.  There are horrors in their eyes and she can't look away.

Dusk turns to night and they light the candles.  She looks up at the stars in the sky and imagines that the flames on the tables make them just another point of light in the distance.  In a way, she knows that's what they are.  This is all just history.

It's just a silhouette at first, a moving shadow down the path, but it soon takes the shape of the Doctor.  His eyes light up when he spots her and she notices that he's carrying a large duffle bag over his shoulder.  He doesn't say anything until he's standing right in front of her.  "I managed to get into the wardrobe today," he shifts the bag to indicate what he means.  "Brought some warm clothing.  Also, these."  He lowers the bag down in front of him, opens it, and pulls out two small objects, holding them out to her.

She stands from the chair so the distance between their faces isn't so terrible, and accepts what he's holding out.  "My books!"  One of them is a little charred on the cover, but she can still read the words 'The Home of Winter' and 'Water in Sunlight' on the one below it.  "You saved them."  She holds them in her left hand as she pulls him into a hug with the right.  He doesn't even hesitate as he wraps both arms around her and pulls her closer, the books and her hand stuck between them.  She can feel tears in the corners of her eyes but doesn't let them fall.  When the part, she looks up at him, "You should get something to eat," and stands out of the way so he can take her seat.

He grabs a plate and fills it, but instead of sitting in the chair, he walks a little distance from the table and sits in the grass.  She picks up on his line of thought quickly and settles down next to him.  They sit in silence for a moment as he eats but then he sets the plate down and fixes his gaze on her.  "I just wanted to say that I'm glad.  That I didn't lose you."

She takes his hand in hers and looks away, out at the people still sitting at the tables and those that have taken up little corners of the yard to carry on conversations.  She squeezes his hand gently.  "Let's not talk about that right now."  She returns his gaze and says softly, "But I'm glad too."  She releases his hand and he goes back to eating.  His choice of words, ' _I didn't lose you,'_ crackle around in her mind.  She remembers how, as a child, whenever she lost something, she would find a quiet place to sit and think about it, so that she could find it again.  She wonders if death works like that.  "We have our own room now," she informs him.  "Here in the new house.  No bed, but maybe we can use some of the clothes in here."

He nods.  "I packed a couple of blankets as well.  We can make it into something comfortable."  It's a few minutes before he speaks again.  "I was thinking, and now that we have our own space it's even more plausible, of bringing the Tardis here so I don't have to walk to it every day.  I can make her lighter—" Clara smiles at the memory of the last time he did so, "—And maybe get someone to help me carry her back."

The thought of him so near every day makes the weight in her chest feel lighter.  "I think that's a great idea."

When he's finished eating, they take their dishes into the kitchen and make their way back to the other house together, him carrying the bag and her holding her books.  She climbs the stairs first, leading the way.  With the boards in the window, the room is pitch black.  She hears him set the bag on the floor and open it again.  She puts the books on the window sill and sits down, moving her hands along the floorboards until she feels the fabric of the bag.

His hands search through the bag, grabbing nothing until they've found what they're looking for, pulling out one thick blanket and the another one.  While he does this, she busies herself with pulling out some of the softer, warmer items of clothing.  Mostly sweaters.  But when she has them out, she looks up, realizing she's been taking something for granted.  "We're going to sleep next to each other, right?  Like, not on opposite sides of the room."  She winces at her attempts to phrase the question in a way that doesn't sound inappropriate.

All she can hear for several seconds is his breathing.  "I suppose that would make the most sense," he says in the darkness.

She starts laying out the sweaters next to each other, trying to create a vague bed shape.  It won't be as comfortable as a real bed, but it will be theirs and she's tired enough that it looks more than appealing.  When she's done, she lays down on it, wrapping her arms around her chest.  A moment later she feels him lay down next to her, placing both blankets on them.

As she warms up a little underneath all the material, she snuggles further under the blanket so that she's covered up to her eyes.  She knows he's next to her, but he's managed to stay far enough away in the little bed that she can't actually feel him.  Her eyelids fall shut, giving in to her exhaustion and she knows sleep isn't too far away.  Already her thoughts are starting to make less and less sense.  But she's still slightly conscious when she feels him shift closer and wrap his arms around her.  And it's there in his embrace that she finally drifts off.

There's sunlight in her dreams.  She's swinging in a park and somehow she can just sense the sadness of the stranger in the swing next to her.  Like he isn't a stranger.  Like she's known him all her life.


	6. the predicament of ocean waves

Sunlight.  The world moves up and down in time with the swing as sunlight leaks in through her parting eyelashes.  Clara forces her eyes open all the way and takes in the dim room and unfamiliar wall in front of her.  The new room, she is in their new room.  Her thoughts wander next to small weight on her side, right above her hip.  Moving as little as possible, she looks down as sees the long fingers she knows belong to the Doctor's hand.  They drifted away from each other in their sleep, but it seems he never entirely relinquished his hold.

She didn't feel like getting up yet anyway, but now that she knows doing so will likely wake him as well, she finds herself even more reluctant.  Instead, she lets her thoughts wander back to the already fading dream.  It was a park she had visited only a few times as a kid, whenever she and her mother were passing through that way, as it wasn't in their neighborhood.  She tries to picture who the strange was, but she can't.

Before she can try to remember anymore of it, the hand slides off of her and onto the floor.  She rolls over to find the Doctor still in that place between asleep and awake, his silver curls messy and fluffier than usual.  She tries not to laugh at how very domestic? intimate? whatever word works best to describe this quiet, shared moment between them.  She pushes herself up and out of their makeshift bed, finding her muscles rather stiff, and walks to the window where the two boards are surrounded by a yellow halo of sunlight.  Even with them, she imagines the cold will be close to unbearable come winter.  She pulls one of them down, letting in the soft light from outside, and looks down to see the Doctor sitting up.  "Good morning."

"Good morning," he responds, looking at the view over shoulder.  "I suppose I should be off.  I need to ask someone for help carrying the Tardis."

"Couldn't you just make it light enough for you to carry on your own?"

"I could, but imagine people will ask questions if they see a man carrying a very large wooden box on his own."

"Oh, right."  She just barely manages to hold back laughter at the image.  "I could come with you and help carry her back."

He shakes his head.  "You haven't even had your stitches removed yet, I don't want to make you walk for hours."

"It's been nearly a week, I'm sure they'll be out soon.  Then you won't have any more excuses," she smirks.

"No," he agrees, but he does not match her humour.  "No, I won't."

***

Three Days Before the Earthquake

The Doctor poked his head out the Tardis door to get a quick look at where they'd landed.  They were on a rather busy sidewalk in the middle of sunny afternoon, but no one seemed to pay the unusual blue box any mind.  Peering up he could see the glass skyscrapers stretching high into the sky.  "Alright, Clara, come on!" he shouted back into the Tardis before stepping fully out onto the sidewalk.

In an instant she was by his side, her small body somehow managing to keep her excitement under lock and key, but he could still feel it radiating from her.  "So where are we?"

He spun around on the spot, checking their surroundings a second time.  "Museum district, I think."  He pointed to a building ahead of them, on the other side of the street.  "Modern art?"  Looking down, he caught her nod of assent and they fell into step in that direction.  "I came here at least once before, about three hundred years ago.  This city hadn't been built yet.  The people of Arawn are generally quite peaceful, even when they were new arrivals on this planet, so I may have helped them overthrow a power-hungry idiot and elect someone more suited to the job."

"Of course you did."  He could see her smile in the corner of his eye and couldn't help but return it with one of his own.

There was no entrance fee for the museum and they ran up the main stairs, her leading the way.  They wandered down exhibit after exhibit, hopping from painting to painting.    Clara had a tendency to spend an average of 11.8 seconds staring at a painting, but every once in a while one would catch her attention and she'd a good ten minutes standing there, trying to catch every detail that she could, like she couldn't look away until she did.  He dedicated more time to each painting, and their interests didn't always match up, but they never drifted too far from each other, almost always remaining within arms length and never entering the next room alone.

The Doctor didn't even notice how a particular painting got Clara's attention until he nearly ran into her as she examined it.  He looked up and it grabbed his attention as well.  It was a landscape painting of a beach on the planet.  The waves were painted in such a way that they almost looked as though they were moving, creeping their way up the sand to reach the shore.

It was a moment of time, trapped that way.  Not like the stasis cube paintings, but in the way that art always traps things in a moment.  That wave will always reach for the shore, but it will never meet it, but at the same time it will never be swept away.  He wondered if Clara would be interested in visiting John Keats, she did like literature from that era after all, and this was a discussion he found himself wanting to have.

He was torn from his thoughts as he felt a small pressure in his palm.  Clara's hand slid fully into his and then tightened its grip.  They'd held hands before, but every time it felt like something precious.  And this moment, here staring at a painting that depicted something he could only describe as a determined yearning, felt incredibly important.  His hearts swelled as he continued to reflect on the scene - the painting and their observance of it.  Some things in the universe will always reach for each other, and not even time itself could ever sway their path.

***

Clara has just picked up  _Water in Sunlight,_ determined to finally read it, when she hears a knock at the door.  She opens it to find a slightly apprehensive Penny on the other side.  "I don't mean to disturb you."

"Oh, I wasn't doing anything too important," Clara assures her, shrugging her shoulders and setting the book down beside the makeshift bed.  "What's up?"

"Well," Penny begins, clearly trying to mentally order her words.  "With so many people here now, especially so many new ones, we've been trying to work out the best way to bring everyone together.  Not like at dinner, but in ways that really make a community.  The thing is, we're hoping to start up that small school a little early to get the children familiar and hopefully friendly with each other.  Do you think you're up to the challenge?"

Clara doesn't know what to say at first.  She hadn't really made a decision before, and if she's really honest with herself, this whole situation still felt quite temporary - as it ordinarily would be - and accepting this kind of responsibility made everything feel a little too permanent for her taste.  But she thinks that these people saved her life and have provided her and the Doctor with food and shelter in their time of need.  She can't bring herself to turn them down.

And that is how she finds herself downstairs in the main room with eleven children staring up at her expectantly.  They're all of various ages and she doesn't have a single clue how far along they each are in their schooling.  She feels her palms grow warm and she realizes that she has no idea what they even  _learn in school here._ This is an entirely different planet far in the future.  What's classic to her is ancient to them, and she doesn't know the kinds of things they're expected to be taught.  She doesn't even have any materials.

Taking a deep breath, she decides to finally address them.  "First day," she announces.  "Why don't we all begin today by introducing ourselves, getting to know each other."  She places a hand on her chest.  "I'm Ms. Oswald."

They go in turns giving their names.  Aiden and Henry are here, and Clara learns they have a little sister named Sara who hides behind them.  There's an older girl named Glenys, and a couple of boys named Dylan and Iwan.  Elinor, Mai, Lili, Megan, and Luc round out the younger children.  Once they've all learned each other's names, she splits them into pairs, letting the nervous Sara stick with Henry as he is paired up with Glenys.  The rules are that they have five minutes each to talk about themselves with their partner, and when they're done they are going to share with the class one interesting fact about each other.

The room is silent for a minute, but soon they fall into sharing.  She walks around the room listening, picking up bits and pieces of conversation.  At first it's all pretty innocuous, things like favorite colors and what they loved doing for fun at home.  But the disaster from two months ago doesn't sit like an elephant in the room, it permeates the walls as the shared experience that it is, like it's a layer of dirt that has sunk into all of their skins and can't be scrubbed out.  They all feel it, they all know it, and there isn't any point in pretending otherwise.

Most of them are here because of their parents.  Luc was saved by one of the adults in the new group and doesn't know where his parents are, but he's certain they're alive somewhere and looking for him.  Mai saw her mother struck down on the road a month ago, but she doesn't share how it happened.

When they share, they stick to the easy things.  Dylan had a microscope he loved.  Glenys managed to stuff six books in her bag ending up on the road with her family.  Iwan loves the way hermit grass smells (and Clara makes a mental note to ask the Doctor what hermit grass is).  Mai likes crushing colorful chalk into dust and watching it blow into clouds in the wind.  Luc's favorite colour is blue.

When she dismisses them for the day the atmosphere feels a little brighter.  They leave with the promise of beginning to learn the next day.

***

Tobias, a guy named Ben who helped rebuild the house, and Madison, a woman from the new group, help the Doctor set the Tardis upright inside the little room he and Clara share.  He thanks them and they share brief, exhausted goodbyes - Tobias quite awkwardly, and the Doctor finds himself a little worried about the young man - before parting ways for the evening.

He looks around the room,  _their_ room, with the Tardis finally sitting in it, and a feeling eerily similar to comfort settles in.  Their situation is only dire so long as he thinks about it, as long as he remembers that there is only one real outcome to their friendship, and it isn't going to be one where he gets to keep her for the rest of his wearily long life.  As long as he keeps that thought in the back of his mind, he can appreciate that this room will contain the things that matter to him, that he'll be able to look around and see them there and know that things are okay.

Except, right now, Clara isn't in the room.  She didn't mention any plans for the day, but he knows she's great at finding things to do.  Ignoring any physical exhaustion from the day's trek, he makes his way back downstairs to look for her.  He doesn't see her anywhere in the house and figures she's probably gone across the way to forcefully offer her help to some unsuspecting person just trying to get a day's work done.

But once outside, he stops in the middle of the road for a reason he isn't entirely sure of.  Then, glancing down the road, he sees a familiar head of brown hair and realizes where she has gone.  His feet carry him in her direction and as the house passes out of his periphery, he is granted a view of a field with a few scattered trees.

Clara is leaning against a large tree just off the road, its shade covering her face from the brightness of the sun.  He can see now that she's reading one of the books he managed to retrieve for her.  Her face is hard in concentration, but he thinks it's the most at peace she's looked since coming here.  It isn't until he's standing right in front of her, his body adding extra shadows to her space, and she realizes she isn't alone anymore and looks up to see him.  "Doctor."

He kneels down, taking a seat next to her against the tree.  "What are you reading?"

She holds the book up to him so he can read the title  _Water in Sunlight._ Poetry, then.  "It's beautiful," she tells him.  "The poem I'm reading now, she's describing standing at the point where a wave reaches on the beach before being swept out to sea once more, and holding her hands in the water, attempting to catch the wave and hold it in place so it won't have to keep trying.  It reminds me a little of Keats actually, not that it's his style or anything, but it reminds me of the lovers on the urn, stuck in the moment right before a kiss, or the piper who will never grow tired of playing music.  Argall doesn't capture the wave in her poem, what her poem does capture is the desperation she's feeling, and that emotional state, the action of  _trying_ will forever exist as exactly that in this poem."

The Doctor smiles, knowing he guessed right about her taste over a week ago in that museum.  He wonders what happened to the painting.  "We should pay Keats a visit one of these days."  As long as he doesn't think about the future, then everything can feel okay.

"That sounds nice," she responds, a smile growing on her face to match his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who keeps reading this and commenting!
> 
> The painting in the museum and the book of poetry are made up for this story (but I feel like I should write that poem now). The John Keats concept they're discussing is actually from his poem Ode on a Grecian Urn. If you haven't read that poem, or had to read it in school once and hated it, give it a quick read because it's really beautiful and more than a little emotional.


	7. at the start of something new

As she slowly wakes up, the first thing Clara notices is that there is no hand on her side; in fact, no part of her seems to be touching any part of the Doctor until she notices a small weight on her left leg. Moving her leg as little as possible, gauging where it is without having to open her eyes, she realizes that her leg is trapped between the two of his.  The position is comfortable in its own way, like a small point she can hold onto to know he's right there. 

The sunlight shines through in the little spaces between the boards and the window frame, but the room is still mostly dark and the atmosphere is peaceful, comforting.  She uses the time to try to figure out what she should teach that day.  There isn't any guide for her, no set curriculum, and she has no idea what is expected of her students. Except she does, she remembers, vaguely at least; before coming to this planet, the Doctor told her they were known for art and science, and he later stated that money wasn't a huge concern. It was an entirely different culture than the one she came from, but perhaps she can make something of what she knows. _Art and science, art and science._ And an idea for the day comes to her. 

The idea comes with a sudden burst of energy and she sits up, ready to start the day, and pulling her legs free with the movement. The Doctor groans sleepily at the loss of contact beside her, his eyes blinking open.  "I need to head to the kitchen," she tells him by way of greeting. 

"Going to try to force them to let you help again?" 

"No," she replies, reaching into the bag for fresh clothes.  From of the corner of her eye she watches him look away out of decency and begins pulling the new clothes on.  "I finally had an idea for what to do in class today and I need to ask Tobias for his help." 

The Doctor raises an eyebrow.  "What for?" 

"If it goes well, I'll tell you all about it."  Fully dressed, she glances at the Tardis sitting in the room and feels a surge of affection at the ship's presence.  It feels exactly like seeing a friend she never expected to see again and she wonders briefly if it would look silly for her to hug the old girl.  She throws the idea aside, simply patting the familiar blue doors, and leaves the room. 

Clara rubs her arms as she cuts through the chill on her away to the other house.  As she opens the door, she thinks for a moment how casual her place here has become - that she can simply come and go as she pleases, as if it's what she's been doing for years.  She strides to the kitchen and knocks once before opening the door and stepping inside.  The kitchen staff has doubled now, but she spots Tobias easily and walks up to him, ignoring Penny's questioning glare.  "Good morning," she says to him.

"Good morning?"  He doesn't expect her, she knows.

"I have a big favor to ask.  It's for the class I'm teaching after breakfast."

He pauses for a moment, working, before looking at her again.  "Yeah?"

"I've been reading 'Water in Sunlight'—"

"A classic."

"Yeah.  And there's one poem I figured we could discuss as a class.  The ages are really varied, so I figured an open discussion is the best thing to start with.  We don't have any materials for anything else.  "But then I thought, a really great way to continue to the discussion in another medium is if you came in and told them a little about painting."  She manages to keep her voice steady, to keep it from rising at the end like a question.

He nods.  "Okay, I can do that.  When will you need me?"

"After you're done with your post-breakfast duties?"  She smiles at him, relieved he agreed.  "Thank you so much."

***

"I think it's kind of playful," Glenys suggests.  "The fact that she thinks she can catch a wave is almost childlike."

Lili raises her hand and Clara gestures for her to speak.  "It's like she's playing tag with the waves, only she's trying to catch them instead of them catching her."

Clara nods, validating the young Lili's statement even as she tries to lead the conversation in another direction.  "But what do you make of the  _reason_ she's trying to hold the wave?  Do you remember the reason she gives?"

Aiden raises his hand.  "She's trying to help it because it keeps getting swept back out to sea and she thinks it's trying to stay on the beach."

"Time?" Iwan hesitantly offers.  "Stopping the waves is like stopping time."

It's a jump, but Clara finds herself impressed at him trying to connect it to something more relatable.

"But why would she think she could stop time by stopping ocean waves?" Elinor asks, and Clara wonders if literature will be a strong subject for the girl.

Glenys raises her hand to respond, but she looks almost uncomfortable as she does, unsure of the words she wants to say.  "Maybe it's because, well, stopping a wave from moving is basically impossible, yeah?  But it's not as impossible as stopping time.  So maybe it's because she thinks that if she can control a small situation - a single wave on a single beach - she can control other things.  If she can help that one wave achieve its goal, then she can make herself think that whatever it is she's trying to get at in her own life, well, she can get that too."

Something sinks in Clara's stomach and she catches a distant look in Luc's eyes as well before he quickly looks away and out the window.  She wonders for a moment if it would be appropriate to change the topic or a take a break right then when Tobias walks in the front door, a large bag held over his shoulder.  Clara stands up quickly, smiling as she throws her emotions behind her and goes to greet him.  "We'll continue our discussion tomorrow.  Class, this is Tobias.  He works in the kitchen and he is an artist."

He sets his bag on the floor beside her to address the students in front of them.  "Ms. Oswald told me about the poem you're discussing today, so I thought we could focus on oceans today.  How many of you have actually been to the ocean?"  Aiden, Henry, Mai, Glenys, Dylan, Elinor, and finally Sara all raise their hands.  "And I'm assuming the other four of you have seen paintings, photos, or videos."  They nod.  Leaning down, he opens his bag and pulls out a metal cylinder which he sets aside, reaching back in to pull several sheets of thick paper and a small box.

She suddenly realizes what he's decided on doing for her class today.  "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," he says to her.  He distributes the paper among the students and opens to box to pull out small pieces of charcoal.  He opens the metal cylinder and, much to Clara's disbelief, it unfolds into a full, standing easel.  "Try to hold that image of the ocean in your mind, in whatever way you remember it looking best.  I'm going to walk you through a sketch, but the end result will be your own."

She watches him leading the class and thinks this is the most she's ever heard him speak.  It's like helping these students has awoken something in him that she didn't even know was there, like he's shining bright when before he preferred to stick to the shadows.  As their drawings began to take shape, she walks around the room, seeing what they're all working on.  She can tell that some of them have more experience, skill, or talent than others, but there isn't a single sketch that looks bad to her.  Each one of them has an individual style that she can notice in their lines.

She returns to her place at the front of the room and, after a while, Tobias sets his charcoal down and joins her there as the students work.  "You didn't have to do this, you know," she tells him.  "I know your supplies are limited."

He smiles at her, a little sad.  "They are, but I wanted to share something.  Helping in the kitchen is one thing, but this," he pauses to watch the class for a moment.  "This is worth something.  What we're facing, it's... hard.  It's hard and we have to be more than a little brave.  Because, losing  _everything,_ it requires you to build from scratch.  Nothing will ever be like it was before, but it can still be  _good._ "

***

 Stepping back inside the bedroom, the first thing Clara notices is that there was no Doctor.  She wonders for a minute if he had wandered off somewhere and where it might be that he had gone when she hears the Tardis doors open next to her.  She turns to see him with the sleeves of his jumper rolled up as he lifts the pair of goggles off his face.  "You're back!" he announces for.

"I am."  She laughs a little as she steps further into the room, amused by the strange domesticity of the situation.

"How did it go?"  He leans against the Tardis, his arms crossed.

"Brilliantly, I think.  We had a real discussion going and Tobias did a wonderful job teaching them to sketch."

His smile is wide and bright, like the stars she always feels she's reaching for, warm like the sand on a sunny beach.  She wants to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his chest, hold all that warmth for herself.  She wonders, not for the first time, what it is she actually feels for him.  She knows it's nothing like what she's felt for anyone else; it's not a nervous excitement she feels in romantic attraction or a fumbling sense of ease in platonic attraction, although all those emotions are certainly wrapped up in the ball of what she feels for this strange, near-immortal being before her.  Like what she feels is all that and more, more than she had ever really been prepared to feel for a single person.  The whole thing is a little overwhelming as she dwells on it, but her thoughts are broken as they both flinch at the sound of shouting outside.

She turns around to look out the window and feels him at her side in a second, looking down at the same view.  She recognizes Jacob in the middle of the path between the two houses as another man, one she doesn't know, throws a fist in his face.  Before she can really think about it, she is down the stairs and out the door, running to the fight.

"How can you say that?" the other man asks loudly, grabbing the collar of Jacob's shirt.  "How can you be so okay with this?  My whole family is  _dead."_ Jacob only holds his hands up like a plea, like he doesn't know what to do next.

"Stop!" she shouts at the two men, knowing that if they can even hear her, they won't listen.  She finally recognizes the other man as one of the newcomers and as he prepares to strike again, Clara runs at them, grabbing his arm.  He glares down at her, letting go of Jacob to shake her off.  Her grip is strong and it takes him a moment, but he manages to push her hard and she feels like she's flying for the split second that her feet lose their hold on the ground and she is tossed backward.  When her body stills the first thing she notices is the smell of dirt, the second is the stinging that lights up her hip and her whole back.  A crowd is gathering around the three of them and she's vaguely aware of the Doctor shouting her name in the background.

Reality rushes back to her as she gets back up, hurrying back into the altercation.  This time she reaches past his arm and grabs a fistful of his shirt, pushing him back so that he almost stumbles and falls.  It feels like the pain in her body is only egging her on as she stares up at this stranger in fury.  "Stop!" and something seems to go out of him a little as he watches her trap him with her gaze and small hands.  "You are entitled to your tragedies, no one can take that from you."  His movements have stilled completely now, he only stands like he's waiting for something, and a little of her anger goes away with it.  She let's go of his shirt, bringing her arms back down to her sides.  The pain in her hip and back is screaming now and she clutches her right side even as she struggles to find the right words to end this matter right here.  "We have all lost, but we cannot move forward to if we are holding on so fervently to the past. Mourn, you have to, mourn everyday, but don't forget to live."

Her eyes are glued to the strangers and she can feel the sad understanding that passes between them in that moment.  The Doctor is at her side now, his arms wrapping around her and he begins to pull her away from the center of the crowd.  As her view of the scene grows before her, she watches as the stranger stands in the center of it, his eyes no longer on her but on the ground.  Jacob stands a few feet from him, a woman Clara recognizes as the person Penny spoke with the night the newcomers arrived has a hand on his shoulder as she speaks with him.

Clara looks away from them all when they reach the door to the house once more.  The Doctor lets go of her as they enter it, immediately heading up the stairs, his back to her.  She follows eagerly, concern settling itself inside her.  When they are both inside their room, he closes the door.  "How could you do that?" he asks, and despite the quiet tone of his voice, she knows he is angry.  "That was reckless and stupid."

"They were fighting!  Someone had to stop them."

"Yes,  _someone._ Nowhere does it say that person had to be you."

"I'm not going to apologize for stopping a fight!"  Her anger rises to meet his.  "It was the decent thing to do."

"And you could have been seriously injured back there!  That man tossed you to the ground."

"Yes, but I got back up.  I can take care of myself."

The Doctor takes a deep breath.  "I'm not saying you can't."  He paces a couple of times before looking back at her.  "Take off your shirt," he commands.

"What?"

"You may have torn your stitches."

She stares at him for a second, still angry.  "Okay."  She pulls her sweater over her head and quickly unbuttons her shirt, shrugging it off.  The Doctor quickly moves behind her and she unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor.

His hand ghosts down her back.  "Don't do that again," he says, but it's barely a whisper.  She hears a shuffle of fabric behind her and covers her chest with her arms as she spins around.  He's sitting on the floor, staring at some distant point behind her.  She sits down in front of him, all thought of her half-nakedness falling away as she leans forward, pressing the side of her face into his neck and wrapping her arms around him tightly.  His arms are around her without hesitation and he pulls her closer.  "Don't leave me alone, please."

She lifts her head slightly, her nose brushing his chin, and feels something wet pour onto her face.  She can feel tears in the corners of her eyes now too.   _I won't,_ she wants to say, but she's too afraid she won't be able to keep that promise.


	8. letting in the sun

Power is still at a minimum in the Tardis, but he doesn't have to hold his breath against poisonous fumes anymore, now he just has to hold his breath because she still isn't producing any air.  It's an improvement. 

He accompanied Clara to breakfast that morning and she left immediately after to teach her class.  During breakfast she spoke with Franz and it was decided that he would remove her stitches after class.  He offered to keep her company during the operation, but she turned him down, telling him it would probably be pretty boring.  Maybe the concept of sitting there watching stitches be taken out of someone's skin is boring, but when he thinks of it, all he feels is immense relief that her injury will be one more thing they can put behind them. 

He's been at work for hours, unsure what the time is.  Are Clara's stitches being removed right now or is she still with her students?  Maybe it's already done and she's on her way back, as was their deal - that as soon as all the stitches were out he would be waiting in their room for her to tell him the news.  Setting his tools down, he heads to the Tardis doors and peaks out, but there's no sign of her.  No news is good news, he reminds himself. 

It's time for a break, he decides.  He's been holding his breath too long and fresh air is essential.  Fresh air, a short walk, some sunshine.  And maybe he'll see her class when he passes through the main room downstairs on his way out.  But as soon as he's halfway down the stairs he can tell the room is empty.  She could be with Franz right now.  No, maybe she's just decided to move class elsewhere for the day.  It is a lovely day. 

Outside the light stings his eyes for a moment as they adjust.  He takes a deep breath and feels the air settle inside of him when his eyes fall on the garden across the way.  There's the woman - Penny, that's her name - gathering something in a basket and handing it off to Tobias.  There is a third person too, a young man sitting in a chair, staring off at the distance.  The Doctor takes a couple steps into the road and recognizes the man as the one who is fed by Penny at all the meals.  The man who never moves and never speaks.  Perhaps he'd like some company. 

The Doctor heads directly to him and watches as the others go back inside.  He gently swings open the little gate of the garden and carefully walks along the narrow path that cuts between the plots to where the man is sitting next to the fence on the opposite side.  There is no reaction when the Doctor reaches him - not that he expected any - the man just continues staring in the direction of the forest. 

"I'm the Doctor," he introduces himself as he turns to admire the same view.  "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"  There's no response, no language for the Doctor to translate, but he figures the man might enjoy some conversation anyway.  He hopes so, hopes he isn't just annoying the fellow.  "I don't know what this place was like before, but it's a lot quieter than the cities ever were.  I wonder if they're quiet now or if there are survivors building there as well.  I still worry about what will happen here.  History says that nothing happened after the disaster, but I know now that can't be true.  There are people here living their lives.  Humans - these big, terrifying, destructive things happen and you lot just carry on.  I'd always meant to avoid this, you know, this _after._ I figured since nothing really happened here _after,_ then I should always be sure to visit before.  Maybe I was wrong to assume so." 

He lets his words sink into the silence around them as a small breeze passes through, brushing gently along the leaves.  He looks to the side, trying to see what is beyond the house but there are just more trees.  Closing his eyes, he takes in a breath of the breeze and can smell salt.  He opens his eyes and turns once more to his conversational companion.  "There's an _ocean_ over there.  I had no idea where we'd ended up in the crash and I certainly had no idea we were that close to the beach.  Maybe I could walk down there one of these days." 

"I doubt you'll be able to do that soon," comes a voice from behind him.  He turns to see a woman he doesn't know.  It's the same woman who responded to the fight yesterday after Clara had already stopped it.  The woman who led the most recent group to this little community.  "The days are getting colder; it'll be winter soon.  That's why we're trying to give Isaac as much time outside as we can before it gets too cold."  She holds a hand out to him.  "I haven't met you yet, I'm Beth." 

He accepts her hand.  "The Doctor." 

"Strange name." 

"Is it?" 

She ignores his deflection.  "You're here with the teacher, right?  Clara?  She's quite brave." 

His life is filled with the traces of her bravery.  "I know." 

"Where is she?" 

If Beth knows that Clara is a teacher but isn't assuming she's with her class, then it must be afternoon already.  "She's having her stitches removed." 

Beth's eyes widen.  "She has stitches?  She just stopped a fight between two men much larger than her yesterday." 

He's more than aware of how concerning the situation was yesterday.  "She got hurt when we were on our way here, but luckily the fight yesterday didn't cause her anymore harm." 

"Where did you come from?" 

She's trying to figure them out, he realizes, decide whether or not he and Clara pose a threat to her and those she's looking after.  Best to keep details to a believable minimum then.  "We arrived here recently, around the time the earthquakes happened." 

"So you're not from Arawn?" 

"No, we're travelers." 

"Well, you might be stuck here for a while then." 

"I know."  He stares out at the forest around them, the breeze currently blowing through the tops of the trees.  "You said it will be winter soon?" 

"Yes, and if you didn't know, the winters here can get pretty harsh.  It didn't use to matter, but now...  It will be the first winter in this new world.  I'm worried for us." 

He has an idea now.  He's not even sure it will work, but the Tardis _has_ been getting better, so he may be able to find the tools he needs.  "Thank you, but there's something I need to do," he says and he walks back out of the garden. 

His pace is as quick as it can be without actually running, and he makes his way back to the other house, up the stairs, and into their room.  He takes one last deep breath and enters the Tardis once more.  Passing the console up, he heads up the stairs and down a corridor, then another, and another, before stopping at one of the rooms.  The place is filled with supplies and he picks up exactly what he needs before heading back out of the Tardis and into their room. 

He pulls his sonic sunglasses out of his pocket.  They may not be a screwdriver, but the function is still exactly the same, and if a sonic screwdriver can put up cabinets and so much more, then his sunglasses could work with windows.  Putting them on, he picks up the plate of glass he'd retrieved from the Tardis and holds it to the window, using the sunglasses to fit the glass into the frame and securing it in place.  Once done, he takes the sunglasses off again and stores them.  He knocks on the window a couple of times, satisfied with it.  They won't be able to open it for air, but it will provide natural light while keeping out the winter winds. 

It will do just nicely, much better than the boards that barely fit into the space and let too much cold in through their cracks.  Now that he's thinking about it, none of the windows in this house had any glass in them.  It wouldn't take long to gather up the glass necessary and sonic them all into place.  But then, it might raise questions if all the windows are fixed in a day when everyone had previously believed there was nothing to be done for them.  He'll have to be careful, but quick enough that the house is secure before winter sets in.  He'll leave it at this room for the day, then tomorrow he'll work on another one, and make his way around the house day by day until all the windows are replaced.  Humans tend to ignore little things like that, so perhaps no one will notice.  Or they'll notice, but they at least won't think it strange. 

He turns around and looks at the Tardis before deciding he is done working on repairs for the day.  The sun is still out and Clara will be able to find him outside just as easily as inside this room. 

*** 

She had expected having her stitches removed to feel weird, but Clara barely felt anything at all during the process.  She steps back out into the daylight, intending to return to the other house and let the Doctor know she is okay when she hears laughter.  Turning her head to follow the sound, she sees her students Aiden, Henry, and Sara with the Doctor of all people.  They're sitting just off the road and tying... _something?_ She can't tell exactly what they're doing. 

As she gets closer she can hear them speaking.  "What do you mean you've never done something like this?" the Doctor asks them.  "Didn't you ever go outside?" 

The children laugh.  "Of course," Henry tells him.  "We first got to catch arthropods when we were five and look at them under a microscope, and we were learning how to sketch botany." 

"But we've never _played_ with plants," his twin finishes for him and Clara can see what they're doing now.  They're each holding some of the thicker pieces of grass and following the Doctor's movements as they tie the pieces together.  And they're making... is that a catapult? 

The Doctor looks up and catches her gaze, a smile immediately finding its way to his face.  "Don't look at us like that," he comments playfully on her confused expression.  "We made flower crowns earlier." 

She looks and sure enough the three children are all wearing thin crowns made from the small flowers still determined to grow in the declining temperatures.  She smiles and it's all she can do not to laugh.  "Ms. Oswald," Henry says, surprised by her presence.  "We told the Doctor that there wasn't any purpose to flower crowns, but he insisted on showing us." 

He may only be eight, but Henry is already showing a predilection for one course of understanding the world around him and it isn't art.  Still, she knows the boy is a creative one in his own way and is glad to see him exploring something new.  "I think it's a great idea," she tells him.  "In fact, I think I'll join you."  She sits down in the grass next to the Doctor.  "Are you making a catapult?" 

Though she asked the Doctor, it's Sara who unexpectedly answers, "Yes, and if it proves to be structurally sound, it should hopefully be able to shoot small pebbles." 

Clara raises her eyebrows, she's never heard Sara say so many words at once.  "How far do you think it will shoot?" 

The little girl shrugs her shoulders.  "A meter perhaps, if we're lucky.  I've never done anything like this before." 

Clara smiles at her, reaching into the grass to pull a few blades free.  She looks up at the Doctor, hoping he'll catch the look of excitement on her face.  "How did it go?" he asks her. 

"Fine," she answers.  "I barely felt anything at all and my back should be just fine now.  Obviously, I still need to be a bit nice to it, probably shouldn't go around crashing into things," she jokes, trying to show that everything will be okay.  "But really," I’m good. 

He gives her a shy smile before looking back down at the plant construction in front of him.  "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it was time we spent the day with the Doctor.  
> Thank you everyone who reads and everyone who comments. Your lovely comments really make my day.


	9. spooky action at a distance - part one

Thirty-Six Hours Before the Earthquake

They spent the night in the Tardis like she was some small hotel instead of an infinite and sentient ship, but it was easier than trying to find a place to sleep out in the city, especially when neither of them carried any of this planet's currency.  The Doctor was considering remedying that situation, if only so Clara could take something tangible with her when they left.

They had elected to spend the day outside in the sun, exploring one of the city's renowned parks.  Lunch was a picnic spent watching a young brother and sister play at being naturalists, trying to catch arthropods and pressing flower samples in between the pages of a book.  He and Clara took turns playfully guessing at what professions the children would grow up to have, starting first with obvious choices like entomologist or botanist, before moving on to his suggestion of 'leader of an army of beetles' and her suggestion of 'Ant-Man.'  As their meal came to an end, the children were retrieved by their parents, presumably to go home, and the Doctor found himself reflecting silently on how quickly they would grow up.  In just a handful of years they would be adults and probably working toward one of the careers he had so carelessly spoken of like lives could be so easily planned out.  His own companion had been their age only two decades ago while his own childhood lay millennia in the past.  He remembered seeing Clara as a child — so full of curiosity and hunger for the world.  Time and obligation had held her down until he had offered her adventure.  No, that wasn't quite it, loyalty had kept her in that bedroom of the Maitland's house.  Loyalty and the death of a friend.  But that was the case with humans, wasn't it?  They died so easily, so quickly, even if nothing came along to take them early.

As he and Clara walked through the wood at the center of the park, he couldn't help but notice that the trees around them were likely older than her and could very well remain standing long after she was gone.  Trees were like that — silent, still, and so very old.  But even these trees wouldn't get the chance; if he'd gotten his timing right, in about fifty years they would all likely be destroyed in a catastrophe that shook this world.  Such was the nature of the universe, everything around him always seemed to be somewhere between living and dying.  Nothing could ever just live without inching closer to its own death.

Clara circled around a tree, her palm sliding around the trunk like it connected her to it.  When she came back around the other side she was smiling.  She reached out and took his hand in hers and he didn't even think to protest.  He never did anymore, he loved the way it seemed to connect him to her like her hand on the tree.  He felt her hand slide along his as they fell into step amidst the comfortable silence.  He found himself wishing that they could stay that way for years, that the moment would never become another memory that would one day haunt him.

But wasn't that why he did this?  Why he held her hand so firmly?  He was clinging to every shred of her he possibly could, every smile, every touch, every spark he felt as her consciousness brushed past his.  It was an impossible situation — now that she was in his life he couldn't bear to lose her, but the future was inevitable, her lifespan a blink compared with his.  He couldn't even wish for it to be different, as he thought back on his life, he could feel her presence everywhere.  Maybe it was because she was a part of his very timestream, maybe it was because she fit so fully into his hearts that she had begun to spill over into every memory, into every little crack like a constant thought in the back of his mind.  He remembered the time he had been knocked unconscious at the end of the universe, only to wake up to her forcing him to promise that he would never look where they had been.  It was difficult not to wonder — though he kept his promise — if it had anything to do with the hazy memory from his childhood, the one where he had felt safe for the first time, calm; the one where he first heard the sound of a Tardis.  He remembered a woman speaking to him, trying to soothe him.  Could it have been her?  Could it have been  _his_ Tardis she left in?  When he recalls the memory, it's her voice in his head.  Was that his imagination or really her?  He wasn't sure he'd ever lived a life without her.  He was built with her around him, he was built to lose in the end.

"You're worrying," Clara said, breaking him from his thoughts.  "I can feel you worrying."

He squeezed her hand gently.  "You shouldn't be able to."  Humans typically weren't telepathic and they were rarely empaths, but her words hardly surprised him.  She sank into every part of him, of course she could glimpse parts of his mind.  He looked down at her, willing himself into the present and taking a deep breath of the forest air.

She smiled back up at him and he shoved his thoughts away, determined that they would not taint this trip.

***

When she moves the boards to let in the morning light, Clara is met with an unexpected sight.  Instead of an open space and a cold breeze, she finds herself face to face with a clear sheet of glass.  "What's this?" she asks the Time Lord sitting on the floor.

"A window," he replies like the answer is in any way sufficient.

She rolls her eyes.  "I know it's a window.  Did you put it up?"

"Yes, with help from the Tardis."

That sounds hopeful.  "Feeling better then, is she?"

"At least enough to lend us supplies.  I plan on doing the whole house before winter gets here."

She blinks at him for a moment.  "That's really nice of you," she says, slightly baffled.  "I'm surprised you don't just want to work on the Tardis."

He shrugs his shoulders and she can tell something is bothering him.  "The winters on this planet can be harsh, so I've been told.  The people here, most of them won't be used to such extremes."

It takes her a second to catch his meaning.  "You mean  _I'm_ not used to it," she translates, and she can't help if she's a little irritated.

"Clara," he begins in his defense.  "Most of these people lived in a very advanced city, they haven't had to really face weather throughout their entire lives.  But now that you mention it, neither have you, really.  Whatever you have even experienced in our adventures — we were always able to leave at some point.  But we don't know how long we're going to be stuck here, so let me do this."

"Fine," she relents.

"Fine?"

"I understand.  And it will be better for everyone here."

"Yes, it will."

"But you don't," she starts before pausing, wondering what it is she's trying to say.  "You don't have to be so scared of losing me."

"Don't I?" he replies immediately, but he stares at the ground, refusing to meet her eyes.  "I will one day," he pushes the words out like they're trying to choke him from inside.  "Something will — I will lose —"  The words stop after that.

Clara considers maybe pulling him into a hug, something to try to make him feel better, but his words have stunned her and she can't move her limbs.  Would it even help?  Was there anything that could soothe such a truth?

"Let's go to breakfast," he suggests, breaking the spell that held her in place.  They walk down the stairs in silence, but her thoughts are still running, mulling over their conversation.  They don't touch as they walk, but she hovers near him anyway, like it could make up for the hug she failed to initiate in their room.  As the door opens, she is hit with the cold air she anticipated when she woke up, but now it's like a shock to her system, mixing uncomfortably with all her thoughts and feelings that are determined to be considered now and not saved for some other time.

They sit down at one of the tables between the two houses and begin their meal in silence.  Around them, everyone else seems deep in conversation, and there is a brief announcement that this evening will be the last time they will eat meals outside together as a community, as soon the evenings will be too cold.  She barely listens to any of it, stuck within her own thoughts.  What could she possibly say to him?  She can't help that she is human, that her life will be so much shorter than his, but she could assure him of the now.   She will stay with him as long as she can, as long as her life will afford.  She needs him to know that, to understand, to be okay.  "Doctor," she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Clara, don't," he warns.  "Imagine..."  His words still struggle to come to him.  "How would you feel if it was me?"

The question steals away her voice gain.  How would she feel if she were to lose him?  She remembers refusing to allow him to die before her.  His ghost floating through the water, the moment where she thought he really was dead.  She tries to imagine losing him and... she can't.  She tries to picture what that future would be like, but there's just nothing at all.  Is that healthy?  Probably not, but it's the truth.  She's lived with him through too much.  She knows the Doctor inside and out, has seen him through his best and his worst.  She remembers him as a child, terrified of the night and the future looming before him.  She remembers him as a solider in the Time War, his eyes pained and weary.  And she has loved him through all of it.  What kind of love was it?  She's not sure, but she remembers the times she was — talking with Danny at night, a moment of calm amidst the incident at Coal Hill, she'd been certain there was nothing romantic to how she felt about the Doctor, but Christmas with her family?  As she listened to her grandmother speak, she  _knew,_ and her grandmother did as well.  Standing near him on the Orient Express?  Choosing him after they'd survived the ill-fated trip, knowing that she could not leave him after all?

Maybe all of the certainties were right, maybe the divide between romantic and platonic wasn't so bold a line as the one she'd been trying to paint all this time.  As she she thinks about it,  _really thinks,_ she understands now that as much as she has loved every part of him, she loves him in every way as well.  He is too big a part of her to draw such simple lines around.

It isn't that she feels like she can't live without him, that she would be too miserable, it's that she cannot  _imagine_ a life without him, a universe in which he is dead but she still lives.  She understands now that is exactly what he means, what he's been trying to communicate since they found themselves trapped here.

She carries these thoughts with her as she joins her class in the main room of her building, the students all gathering on the floor in front of her.  But before she can begin her lesson, one final thought strikes her.  How did he know to ask that particular question?  How did he know she'd understand?  That this is how she feels?

_Because he feels the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the time between updates on this one, life got a little crazy. But for those of you who knew I applied to grad schools a little while ago, I can at least now announce that I've been accepted to both Rutgers and NYU!


	10. spooky action at a distance - part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet in this story.

The class had been inside for nearly two hours when Clara decides she can’t take any more of the dark walls around them.  Her thoughts and breathing have been fluctuating between calm and completely haywire the entire time.  She’s made every effort to keep from being distracted, and so far she has won, but she’s afraid her victories are going to slip away soon.  Even now a silence has spread through the room and her students are all looking up at her expectantly.  “How many of you are tired of sitting in here all day?” 

The children break out into hushed giggles before realizing that her question is series.  Glenys is the first to raise her hand, followed by Elinor, Mai, and then Iwan, Dylan, and Aiden.  “It’s a nice day,” Clara continues.  “A bit chilly, maybe, but beautiful.  We should go for a walk.  Does everyone here have a coat or a jumper?” 

Several of the students get up and grab their coats from the pile by the wall, but Lili, Megan, and Luc remain sitting, Megan raising her hand.  Clara nods and the girl speaks.  “I don’t have anything,” she says. 

“Neither do I,” Lili chimes in.  Luc nods his head as well. 

Clara considers what to do, wondering what the best decision for the class might be.  She doesn’t want to force them out into the cold without something warm to wear, but she doesn’t want to exclude them by leaving them here either.  She could just cancel the little trip altogether, but the problem that she sees arising from that decision is that the solution would only be a temporary one.  The Doctor had said the winters here were harsh; the temperature outside would only continue to drop and, as thick as these walls were, they’d only be able to hold in the warmth for so long.  So she makes a different decision.  “Alright, come with me,” she says to the group. 

She leads them up the stairs and down the hall to her and the Doctor’s room.  They leave the door open, the lot of them trying to all squeeze into the tiny space.  Several of them throw strange looks at the large, blue box in the corner, likely wondering what it could possibly be there for.  Clara kneels down next to the makeshift bed she and the Doctor share.  So their bed won’t be as comfortable tonight, she can live with that. 

She sifts through their pile-of-garments mattress, hoping to find something that won’t engulf the children she plans on clothing.  She manages to find a gray, wool jumper that fits over Luc and only falls down to his knees.  “You can keep that,” she tells the boy, and smiles softly as he hugs the thick fabric closer to his body.  She finds a blue jumper that’s rather loose on Lili, but isn’t too large, and a brown one for Megan. 

“Are we ready?” she asks the class, and they make their confirmation loudly known.  Briefly, she wonders where in the house the Doctor might be adding new windows and if he can hear the noise coming from their room. 

Through their own window she can see the gray light of the chilly day and there is something peaceful about it.  Her class now sufficiently warm – some more than others - set off back down the stairs and out into the slightly stinging breeze. 

Her eyes trace the path to the woods, but she immediately drops the possibility of taking them there.  If there stories are to be believed, if there really are dangerous people hiding within, then the woods are no place for a group of students.  Options suddenly limited, she scans the area around them.  She remembers what the Doctor told her he had done yesterday, how he had sat in the garden with Isaac, and the she realizes there might be a lesson in this after all. 

She leads them to the garden gate before motioning for them to stay behind a moment as she swung the door open and stepped inside.  She walks up to the kitchen window, peering n and hoping someone will still be in.  Knocking on the window, it’s none other than Penny who looks up from some tattered, almost makeshift book.  Clara walks over to the door just as Penny opens it.  “Yes?” she asks, surprised at the teacher’s unexpected appearance. 

“I have my class here,” Clara answers, gesturing to the students gathered around the garden gate.  “We were just wondering if,” she pauses suddenly realizing she hasn’t actually thought through what she intends to ask.  “Do you have anything you need to do in the garden today?  The kids can help and it would be good for them to learn.” 

Penny looks down as she thinks about it.  “I suppose there is something.  I need to get the garden ready for winter.  What I really need are some cold frames, but I don’t have the time or resources for that.  I have been preparing a mulch though, and the children can help me with that.”  At Clara’s nod of agreement, she steps out and addresses the class on the other side of the short fence.  “I don’t have anything for your hands, so we’ll all have to be careful.  First, we need to clear the garden of any dead stems, large twigs, anything that might harbour insect eggs through the winter.  Then we’ll spread a thick layer of mulch to regulate the temperature of the soil.”  Clara watches as she stands at the fence, hand on the gate.  “Ready?”  Several of the students nod, some less sure than others, and Penny opens the gate. 

The older woman begins by helping them identify which types of things to clear out and soon enough the garden is filled with students on their knees picking things up or walking to the large bucket Penny designated for organic waste.  Clara finds herself working at a plot near the fence at the end, and it’s on her way back from the bucket that she spots something that had previously gone unnoticed.  Growing right along the fence line is a little patch of flowers.  The same flowers she saw the Doctor and the kids playing with the day before.  She had only briefly reflected on the small blue flower’s persistence, but it really was impressive.  Here they are dealing with a whole garden of plants bowing out for the cold weather, but those flowers just bloom on like it is spring.  Is there reason for it?  She’s not familiar with Earth plants let alone flora of this new planet. 

She kneels down in front of the garden plot again, but her gaze is still fixed on the flowers.  She finally looks back at the plants in front of her when she hears a sound next to her and her attention is once again led to the fence line.  It’s Sara, on her knees, her small hand wrapped around the stem of one of the flowers as she pulls it free from the bunch.  Clara flinches at the morbidity of the action happening just as she was reflecting on the small flower’s penchant for survival.  Several more have been pulled before Clara thinks to react.  “Why don’t you just let those flowers grow.”  It’s isn’t a question. 

“They’re weeds,” Sara replies anyway. 

 _Aren’t we all?_ Clara doesn’t say out loud.  “Maybe before it was, but now they’re trying to survive, same as the rest of us.”  She’s not sure why she’s taking the flower’s plight so personally. 

Sara doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t pick anymore flowers either.  Instead, she plops down in front of the plot, next to Clara, her fingers working away at the stems.  Clara smiles at the sight, a little uncertain, and turns back to her work. 

She returns from the bucket once more, kneeling down, when Sara turns to her.  The little girl holds her arms outstretched, palms up in offering, a blue flower crown lying delicately atop them.  “I’m sorry about the flowers.  You were upset that I picked them, so I thought you might like to keep this.” 

Clara's hand reaches out slowly to accept the offered crown.  She's not sure what to say, what to make of all this, if her words should be kind or scolding.  She still isn't entirely sure why she tried to stop the girl from picking the flowers in the first place.  "Thank you," she finally decides to say.  Sara holds her gaze for a moment longer, nods, and turns back to her work. 

Clara places the crown on her head, smiling slightly at the admitted silliness of the situation.  She turns her body back to the plot, her fingers reaching up to touch the small blue flowers resting in her hair.  But as they come in contact with the petals, she still can't shake the feeling that they are dying, that this is it now.   _I_ _will lose,_  she hears the Doctor's voice inside her head, and as she continues with the work in the garden, she can't make it go away. 

*** 

The view through the newly installed window tells him that the sun is setting much earlier than it did when they first crashed.  Dinner will be starting soon and then their little community will be shrouded in darkness until morning. 

He puts his coat back on, pockets the sunglasses, and sneaks back out the door of whoever's room this is.  His feet carry him quickly down the stairs and out the door, into the cold breeze and the sight of people hugging their arms to their bodies in an attempt to keep warm.  Even if they hadn't announced it that morning, it's obvious that this will be the last dinner outside.  Still, there's an intent to enjoy it drifting through the space, and those same cold people are smiling as they fall into conversation, pulling out chairs and taking spaces around the tables. 

He looks around but doesn't see Clara.  Picking a spot at the end of one of the smaller tables, he takes a seat and waits.  His wait isn't long as he catches her exiting the garden, several of her students in tow.  He considers waving to get her attention, but his arms won't move from his side. 

There’s a blue flower crown on her head and she's speaking to a student, but as her conversation ends she looks up and catches his gaze from across the way.  Saying one last thing to the student, she makes her way to the table and takes the seat next to him.  After that morning there are a thousand things he thinks he should say to her, but he can't find any of them.  Instead, what slips out is, "Your class doesn't usually run this late." 

She nods in agreement.  "We were helping Penny in the garden.  I said they could go home, but most of them wanted to stick around and see the job done.  I'm glad, really, that they've taken such an interest.  This is their home now."  There's something in the way she says that last sentence that makes his hearts act up in, what?  Fear?  Concern?  Quiet joy?  Apprehension, he decides. 

His head does something vaguely resembling nodding, and they fall into silence, eating when the food is served.  The silence isn't entirely uncomfortable, but there's something to it that worries him.  He's afraid that he's missing something, that he should say something or understand something.  He's afraid that if he doesn't figure it out by the end of the night, a rift might grow between them that would take ages to cross again.  They've drifted apart and come back together so many times, but he fears the day he can't find his way across to her.  He knows too well that day will come in one form or another. 

As the meal comes to an end and he feels a certain panic rising, the struggle to find the right words becomes harder.  His thoughts are interrupted as he notices a hush fall over the table in the center of the path.  A man at the table starts singing a song he isn't familiar with, a slow song, and then a woman at that table joins in.  The duet becomes a greater harmony as two more people join in, including someone from the table they're sitting at.  It seems that whatever the song may be, it's well known here. 

Deryn is the first person to stand up, carefully pulling her young daughter to her feet and leading her into a dance.  More pairs join in, some of them couples, some of them parent and child, some siblings, and even a few strangers.  He can feel Clara's eyes on him and then she slowly slips her hand into his, tugging it to get him to stand.  He goes willingly, if a bit unsure. 

He can remember the way he used to be at parties in the past, the way his ninth self danced with Rose Tyler or his eleventh at Amy and Rory's wedding.  This time he finds his movements to be stiff and stubborn.  "I'm not sure I'm the dancing type this time," he tries to inform his partner. 

"I'm not sure you get a vote," she replies fondly, her voice low as she recalls their first real attempt to reach out to each other in his most recent self.  He knows she's right as he falls into step with her – there isn't anywhere else he'd rather be at the moment. 

The song changes to something more upbeat and the dancers around them follow, but Clara makes no move to quicken their pace.  She leans in a little closer to him but not too close that he can't see her face.  It feels like the world is spinning on around them as they nearly stand still. 

She laughs a little to herself and he raises an eyebrow, silently asking her what the joke is.  She laughs a bit more at that before she finally acquiesces.  "There's just something I've been thinking about for hours now and it's kind of funny.  When we were talking earlier, we kept using the word 'lose.'"  He swallows as she brings up that conversation, but she shakes her head just slightly to reassure him.  "I told you that you wouldn't lose me and you said that you would, and all day I've been caught up on our choice of words.  'Lose.'  It makes it sound so simple like when you lose your keys or your best pencil or your school bag." 

He smiles as he catches her meaning.  "I suppose it does." 

"It sounds like such a simple problem with such simple solutions.  Reminds me of when I was a kid, whenever I lost something I would find a quiet place, close my eyes, and try to remember where I put it." 

He halts their movements completely, disrupting her reminiscing.  "That's impossible," he whispers. 

She frowns.  "Doctor, what's wrong?" 

He barely even registers her question, caught up in his own memories.  "That was  _you_?"  The event in question was so, so long ago, over nine hundred years have passed, but he remembers the girl and her advice.  In a way, her advice had worked - he went to live with monks and think about the woman twice dead, the woman standing before him now.  In the end it may have been a phone call, not his quiet thinking that had brought him back to her, but now he knows that his original plan  _had_ worked all along.  "It was you.  I was in that park because I thought I'd run into the friend I'd lost if I just wandered about, waiting for her to bump into me like destiny.  The friend I was looking for was  _you,_ and there you were.  Like destiny."  And now he gets it, he  _finally_ gets it and he wants to slap himself for missing it before. 

He can tell that she quite clearly hasn't followed his line of thought, that he jumped too many ideas forward in his head, not enough of them out loud.  "What are you on about?" 

He grabs her shoulders like holding them could help her remember.  "When you were a child you met a man in a park on the swings.  He was looking for a friend he’d lost.  You gave him that exact same advice and told him how it helped you find your best pencil, your school bag, and your mojo." 

"My mojo," she laughs.  "I remember losing that."  Her laughter slows and he watches the thoughts play across her face, feels her thinking through the small bit of skin that his thumb rests against.  "That man was you?" 

"Yes," he smiles.  “And the friend I was looking for was you.”  His smile is so wide he thinks it might take up his whole face.  "Quantum entanglement - how did they describe it in that film?" 

Her gaze is one of confusion again for a moment, but then he feels how she sees the look in his eyes, full of concentration and an affection she's only managed to catch a few times before, and her confusion gives way to something resembling nervousness.  "I don't know if I can remember it word for word, but it went something like ‘When you separate an entwined particle and you move both parts away from the other, if you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected.  Even at opposite ends of the universe.’" 

He sees the hope and fear in her eyes as she speaks, and places one hand on her face, cupping her cheek gently.  Now he knows.  Their time in this universe isn't some arbitrary thing where they know each other briefly before being torn apart forever.  And it wasn't even Missy that really brought them together, because they met before all that.  There in the park, he had been hoping the universe would lead him to her and it did exactly that.  They were born on different planets in different time zones, but now he wonders if they ever really existed without each other after all, because even all of that never kept them apart, not with the way they met each other as children, not with the way she has existed throughout his entire life, silently protecting him.  He'd do the same for her in a heartbeat, perhaps he has and it's all just to come. 

What affects one affects the other.  He leans his forehead on hers, feeling like he needs to be as close to her as possible, like they should fill the same space, and his smile doesn’t wane a bit.  "Even at opposite ends of the universe," he repeats, and he leans into the tiny space still left between them, unable to leave even that much open.  His movements aren’t entirely slow, but he knows she’s moving as well, like she feels the same pull.  His lips are on hers and he’s not completely sure it’s a kiss, more of a need to be as close as possible.  He presses in even further, and he doesn’t find himself wishing the night won’t end or they can stay in this moment forever.  All he can really feel is something he recognizes as happiness.  For once he isn’t afraid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter and the last one comes from Albert Einstein's description of quantum entanglement as "spukhafte Fernwirkung" or "spooky action at a distance."  
> Once again, the film she is quoting is Only Lovers Left Alive.  
> For anyone who might be interested, I wrote the majority of this chapter to the ep "Gold" by Pen Pals (mostly the song "Open Door") which can be downloaded for free or for a tip here https://noisetrade.com/heathmcnease/gold  
> And finally, your comments have all been so great and lovely. I hope you all continue to enjoy it as we go through the next several chapters.


	11. on the eve of the storm

There is a moment where the world falls away and the only thing Clara knows is the point where the Doctor's lips meet hers.  She leans into the kiss, the dry and slightly chapped warmth of it, forgetting the cold breeze that nips at them as it passes by.  When enough of her thoughts return to her she reflects that the moment isn't world-altering; things haven't changed so much as they have slipped into proper alignment.  When she woke up that morning she didn't think she'd kiss the Doctor before the day was done, but there's nothing about this that doesn't feel completely natural. 

Slowly, the sounds of the feast start to filter in and she pulls away to look up at him, his face still engulfed by the warm smile that had preceded the kiss.  "Are you cold?" he asks.  She nods,  too cocooned in warm emotions to worry about speech.  "Why don't we go back inside," he suggests, and she takes his hand in silent agreement, leading him back into the house. 

She notices a slight shift when the enter the building.  Separated from the festivities outside, they find themselves shrouded in the darkness of the empty house, the biting wind suddenly cut off and a stillness settles itself around them.  The Doctor leans in closer to her, his arm wrapping around hers and she leans her head against his chest.  Their footsteps are slow, there is no rush. 

Back in their room she watches his hand slide across the Tardis doors in greeting as they pass her and head for their bed.  She kneels down on the cloth pile first, feeling the weight of him following her down to the floor.  He covers them with the blankets and pulls her to him, kissing her gently on the forehead.  She leans up, pressing her lips to his once more and feeling him return the kiss, then tucks her face below his chin, her nose pressed up against his neck.  His scent surrounds her, something earthy almost, though she wonders how much of it belongs to her since she's the one who spent the day in a garden. 

Her hand is underneath his jacket, part of his shirt pushed up as her palm rests on the warmth of his skin.  He has his arm as far around her is it will go, its hold just as tight, and his leg is entwined with hers.  "Doctor," she says, half a sigh as her eyes fall closed and the world around them seems to drift away. 

*** 

One Hour Before the Earthquake 

As the door to the bookstore closed behind them, the Doctor looked up at the sky, the clouds covering the sun and bathing them in a pale, gray light.  He could feel drops of water on his face, like a slight mist that drifted gently down around them.  Clara slipped her left hand into his, her gaze trained on the books in her other arm.  "The Home of Winter," she said, reading the title of the book on top.  "Have you ever read it?" 

"No," he replied.  "I can't say I have." 

She pushed the book with her thumb, grasping it with the tips of her fingers underneath the volume of poetry, and managed to flip it over without ever retrieving her hand from his.  "It says it's a work of fiction that draws heavily from Edward Kidd's life.  I thought it would be interesting, you know, to read about someone's life on this planet two hundred years ago." 

"We could always just travel back two hundred years," he suggested, smiling. 

She smiled back almost foolishly and he could see there was a point she was trying to make, something she was trying to say that he didn't understand the first time around.  "I know, but it's not just that.  It's not just knowing what life was like then, it's reading about it while experiencing what life is like now.  That's an experience all on its own.  Besides, it's a classic." 

"A classic from your future." 

"Yes, exactly," she laughed. 

He watched her tilt her head up, her eyes closed as the soft mist landed on her face.  It was one of those rare moments where she seemed entirely at peace, leaving him to lead the way.  Though he was responsible for watching where they walked, he didn't want to look away from her and nearly missed the slight vibration beneath their feet.  Her eyes popped open as she felt it, redirecting his attention to the feeling as well, but it left just as quickly as it came. 

She frowned, "That was odd." 

"It was."  He thought about it, trying to work out what the source of it may have been.  It had caught them both off guard, but no one else around them seemed concerned, suggesting that it was a normal occurrence.  "Probably nothing to worry about," he said in a tone that was both reassuring and dismissive.  He would have to be more alert, more observant, in case there was cause to worry. 

*** 

The first thing the Doctor notices is the uneven surface his arm is laying on.  As he shifts it, his fingers trace along an almost rough texture he recognizes as fabric.  His nose is pressed against skin and as he moves the leg he isn't resting on, he finds that while his thigh and knee are free, his ankle is tucked between two other feet.  When he opens his eyes his immediate sight is of dark brown hair. 

The light in the room is a soft, cold white.  He leans his head back, trying to get a better look at the woman sleeping in his arms, his fingertips dragging across the sleeve of her jumper.  Away from the shadowed protection of his body, the sunlight lands on her eyelids and she slowly blinks awake.  Her brown eyes open and as soon as they meet his blue ones, the bleary look leaves her face, being replaced by a quiet smile, a gentle curve of the lips. 

There are hundreds of things he could say.  He could greet her with a good morning, a hello, a comment about the day, or, most familiar to him, he could simply greet her with her name.  None of these words pass his lips, he cannot bring himself to say anything at all.  Instead his head moves the small distance across their makeshift bed and he kisses her.  It doesn't feel like an admittance of anything, simply an acknowledgment of what's always been there and a relief that he can finally acknowledge it without being afraid of it destroying him. 

Her hand reaches up and grabs his face, pulling him even further in.  When the kiss ends, her thumb strokes his cheek.  It is she who finally breaks the silence.  "Do we have to get up?" 

His eyes flick up to glance at the window and the light flowing in.  If breakfast hasn't already begun, it will soon.  "We probably should."  She still has a class to teach and he has windows to complete. 

They leave the comfort of the blankets and clothing and limbs, but there is still something clam and warm in the atmosphere of the room as they change into fresh clothing, modesty long forgotten among the journeys of their shared life.  They have grown used to close quarters over time, but any distance that had still remained seems abolished now as she takes his arm, leading their way down the stairs.  He is glad for it, glad to finally give up the pretense he had tried to construct at the start of this regeneration. 

Breakfast in hand, Clara picks a spot by the wall for them to sit down and eat.  They eat in silence, and though he can still feel the same calm joy emanating from her, there are other things slipping through.  He catches snippets of conversation around the room. 

"Penny thinks there's enough food saved for everyone, but I don't think she was certain, she looked like she was saying so for my sake." 

"It's too cold for you to go outside, darling." 

"There's a storm coming, trust me, I can tell.  Just look at those clouds.  They'll be here tomorrow for sure." 

He stops listening to Clara's emotions, tries to filter out the noise of the room and come up with some sort of plan.  Last night he came to the conclusion that he would always find Clara if they are ever separated, but he's not ready to test that theory yet. 

As soon as he's finished eating he hops up, takes his bowl to the kitchen, and rushes for the stairs.  Fingers around his wrist stop him, turning him around to face their owner.  "What's wrong?" Clara asks, her eyes searching.  He considers not answering.  "Tell me," she commands.  "I can tell something is wrong." 

There is something in her tone that reminds him of their walk through the park back before everything went to hell.  There is no point in hiding from her, so he surrenders.  "This is my fault," he tells her.  "I miscalculated and got us stuck here.  You nearly _died_ a few weeks ago and now you have to go through _this –_ a winter that no one here might survive.  Freezing, starvation, crushed to death by an old, hastily repaired roof that might collapse under the first heavy snowfall.  These are all probable and I put you in this situation." 

"Doctor, stop!  You can't predict the future, so stop.  Instead, _think_ , because I have a class full of children eating breakfast right now and they need to be kept safe too.  You're already installing windows to help with the cold and keep out the elements.  Is there anything else you can do?" 

"I don't know," he responds, but he's thinking about it.  The Tardis isn't well enough yet to create anything, but there still might be some non perishable food left in her stores and some water incase any of the incoming rain, ice, and snow is contaminated for any reason.  He can take a look when he goes to get more glass.  Clara's right, even if the two of them weren't stranded, the people here would still be in danger.  Since they are stuck, they might as well help where they can. 

"Whatever happens," she says, unsure of his thoughts.  "We'll face it together." 

He doesn't entirely need her assurance in that moment, but he's happy for her words anyway.  He kisses her on the forehead quickly, smiling slightly at the confusion on her face, her uncertainty at his reaction.  "I'll see you later." 

At that she returns his smile and releases him, turning back to the main room and waiting for her class to gather.  He walks back upstairs and into their room, entering the Tardis to gather supplies for the ay and search for the items on his newly written mental checklist. 

He walks the twisting corridors, the Tardis not quite up to moving around the rooms to make the trip a shorter one.  He doesn't mind, walking is an activity he enjoys.  Not as fun as running, but not as anxious either.  He finds the glass first, exactly where he's been getting it from the past few days.  Lifting it carefully,  he carries it back to the door of the ship before turning around to search her once more. 

There's a pantry in a kitchen that shouldn't be too far and so he heads in that direction.  It only takes him about ten minutes to reach it and to his surprise, once inside, he finds a bag laying conveniently on the counter.  He smiles,  knowing the Tardis is trying to help even now.  He caresses the wall, trying to show his gratitude before he grabs the bag and enters the pantry, quickly filling it with as much dry food as he can. 

Bag full, he steps back out of the pantry and stops short, startled by the unexpected sight of several canvases and what appears to be a bag of acrylic paints.  "Was that you?" he asks her, getting only a soft hum in response.  He suddenly knows exactly what they're for.  "Clever," he says with real appreciation. 

Back outside of the Tardis he sets the bag of food down but holds on to the supplies.  His work can wait a few minutes, but this is something he should do now while he has the chance.  He heads through the hallways with a purpose, ignoring the confused or inquiring looks of anyone he passes.  Out into the cold, across the way, and he enters the other house, making straight for the kitchen.  Penny spots him first, looking cross at someone daring to interrupt their work.  "I need to speak with Tobias," he tells her, holding back the smile wanting to bloom with his amusement at her irritation. 

"Yes?" Tobias approaches him, unsure, and the Doctor steps back a little, moving their conversation to just outside the kitchen. 

"These are for you," the Doctor says, straight to the point.  He holds them out to the young man as best he can.  Tobias pulls one of the canvases free, looking it over.  "I just found them with my things and thought you would appreciate them." 

"I don't know what to say," Tobias responds, and it's clear he's taking it more... just _more_ than the Doctor expected.  He looks ready to cry. 

The Doctor is quick to calm him.  "You don't have to say anything.  I know what you have now is all you have left, but you were still willing to share with the community.  People like you are important, but it's also important for the community to give back when it can.  This is me, giving back.  You should never have to stop painting." 

A few tears do escape from Tobias' eyes then as he holds the canvas closer to himself.  He realizes the Doctor is still holding the rest of the gift and he quickly sets the first canvas down to lean against the wall, grabbing the other canvases and the bag of paints.  "Thank you so much." 

*** 

Clara climbs the stairs slowly, trying to keep each step as quiet as possible.  Class had gone on longer than expected.  One of the parents had stopped by to talk about the weather, explain to them things like the water cycle, and after the students wanted to go outside to get a better look at the approaching storm clouds, so they had all donned their coats and sweaters. 

The Doctor did not make an appearance during dinner, but Clara had pushed down any anxiety about it, reminding herself of their conversation that morning and how he was likely working more to prepare the house as quickly as he could.  When dinner was finished she chose to remain downstairs a little longer, reading the copy of "The Home of Winter" she'd been carrying with her all day.  Her hope was that she'd be able to introduce it to the class the next day. 

The book is tucked under her arm now as she carefully opens the door to their room, hoping not to disturb whatever it is he may be up to.  In the dark of their room she can't see anything at first, but soon her eyes adjust to the moonlight and she can see his shape asleep on their bed in the middle of the room. 

She sets her book down next to the wall, intending to join him in sleep, when she notices a book held open on his chest.  She picks it up, holding her breath that he won't waken.  He doesn't and she carries it to the window so she can get a better look at it.  The book is only his personal journal, the same one she often sees him reading from, but the page it's open at is a new addition. 

Her fingers trace the pencil markings and her heart feels like it's swelling.  On the page is a sketch of her, not entirely finished, the way she was last night.  There is the flower crown in her hair and a slightly dreamy look on her face.  She turns around, hoping to get more direct light on the page to see the sketch more clearly, but a movement catches her eye and she looks up to see the Doctor standing before her, his face a bit sheepish. 

"It's beautiful," she says, and she almost wants to feel ashamed for the way her voice slightly wavers.  He takes the notebook from her, setting it down on the windowsill and taking her face in both his hands.  His lips are on hers before she can even think about it and she leans in, grabbing the lapels of his jacket.  Her force is a bit more than she intended and he stumbles back a step, but as soon as he regains his balance he deepens the kiss. 

He pulls away, giving her the chance to catch her breath, and leans his forehead against her.  "I love you."  The words slip from him in a half whisper and he makes no move to take them back, to cover them up. 

She pulls him closer, wrapping her arms tightly around him like if she holds on tightly enough she'll never have to let go again.  Leaning up, she kisses him once more, slowly this time, and answers, "I love you." 


	12. a vision of white

One Minute and Thirty-Two Seconds Before the Earthquake

Dusk had settled around them, the clouds that filled the sky were dark and heavy as the Doctor peered up at them.  Something was wrong.  He didn’t know what – though he had his suspicions and he dearly hoped they were wrong.  “I think we should return to the Tardis for the evening.”

Clara’s gaze followed his own up to the sky.  “Why?  Because it looks like a storm’s coming?”

He shook his head, looking down at her.  “No, though I suspect you’re right.  A little rain has never bothered us.  No, I’m worried because there’s something I didn’t do when we arrived.”  He took her hand, pulling her quicker down the pavement.

“And what’s that?”

“I never saw a single news article, never even looked for any.  I never asked anyone for the day, never even asked them for the time or the season.  I should have; it’s a massive oversight.  I should never be that confident in my ability to land us where we want to go.”

“Well, how bad could it be?”

He barely heard her question, his eyes fixed on the Tardis just ahead, maybe 170 meters away.  Once inside they would be safe.  Earthquakes could typically last up to thirty seconds.  This would not be an average earthquake.

165 meters away and the vibration began again beneath his feet.  His grasp on Clara’s hand tightened as he broke into a sprint.  158 meters away and the shop window beside them shattered.  He heard Clara yelp and distantly felt scratches along the right side of his face.  They just had to get inside.

There were screams, he knew there were screams, but their sound was drowned by something impossibly louder.  The earth was cracking somewhere around them, but he wasn’t sure where, he wouldn’t dare look.  Everything was rock breaking apart, metal crashing, and glass shattering.

With his vision on the Tardis, the one thing he couldn’t miss was the waterfall of architecture behind it, the way the smooth surface of the building rippled and cracked and fell in a fluid moment.  He pulled Clara inside, only letting go of her hand so she could shut the doors as he ran to the console, throwing the Tardis into the vortex as fast as possible.

They were swept up in the collapse like a wave come to wash them away.

***

_Was it a bird that had woken him that morning?_ Clara reads to her class.  _He knew the birds had to be around somewhere, he just couldn’t remember the last time he had heard one sing.  It had been a month since he’d found the red feather laying carelessly on the ground._

_These were the motions.  He needed to eat so he pulled himself out of bed, arranging the blanket in a way that could be considered neat, and stumbled his unstretched legs to the other side of the cabin.  He lit a fire in the little stove and poured water into the kettle.  There was only enough water left for one cup; he would need to collect more today.  Finding ice to melt was no hard feat, it was his food supply he worried about.  As he cut a small portion of the harden bread, he knew he would have to venture out to forage for whatever nuts he could find to make more._

_His tongue lightly scalded from the boiling water, he set out into the bright, white day.  His boots crunched in the snow and his eyes flitted about, looking for any sort of movement, anything that might set this day apart from the last._

Clara closes the book over her hand, holding the page where she read as she takes a breath.  Looking down at the students waiting in front of her, she asks, “Who can tell me what the tone is here?”  At first all she gets are blinking eyes, so she tries to make it easier for them.  “A lot of people often try to categorize stories as either comedy or tragedy.  If this was all you were to ever read of this book, which one do you think you would categorize it as?”

Dylan raises his hand.  “Tragedy.”

“Why?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“Because it feels sad.”  He shrugs his shoulders.

“Why does it feel sad?”

“It’s just the way that it’s written,” Elinor offers without raising her hand.

The corner of Clara’s mouth tilts up.  “Perhaps I should clarify, _what specifically_ makes it feel sad?  Give me details.”

After a hesitant moment, another hand comes up, this one belonging to Mai.  “His days are the same.  There are no other people.  The last company he had was a bird and it’s been over a month since he’s seen even a trace of one.  The only sound I remember when you read was when his boots crunched in the snow.  It’s like that’s the only sound there was, like everything was empty.”

“That’s good,” Clara nods.  “Those are really good details.”

Glenys raises her hand, a look of confusion on her face, and Clara calls on her.  “Do people really try categorize stories just by whether they’re funny or sad?”

At this Clara has to hold back a smile at the girl’s unexpected understanding.  “Some people, yes.  Of course, stories are rarely so simple, especially the good ones.  But even more than that, I once saw a scholar define the comic and the tragic not as the simple ‘happy’ and ‘sad’, but by the events that happen within them.  According to this person, it wasn’t that the comic was funny or happy but that the author would obviously interfere in the course of the story.  The tragic didn’t necessarily mean that it ended on a sad note, but that the events played out naturally without the author interfering.  A story can end badly but be considered comedic if a sad ending comes out of nowhere simply because its author wrote it that way.”

Glenys thinks about this for a moment before speaking again.  “Can a tragedy have a good ending?”

Clara’s smile slips and she swallows.  She knows the girl’s real question.  _Can a natural course of events ever end well?_ Outside small snowflakes fall slowly to the ground.  She woke up that morning to the white dusting the paths and rooftops.  “I don’t know.  I suppose, if all of the right elements are there.”

“How does this book end?” Iwan asks.  “Is it comic or tragic?”

“I haven’t read the ending yet,” Clara answers honestly.  “I guess we’ll find out.”  She shifts her gaze to the window again and at the gentle snowfall.  “How many of you have had a chance to enjoy our change in weather?”  There is a murmur of giggles and a few shaking heads.  “Then I suggest we go outside now before the storm arrives and the weather worsens.  There may not be enough snow out there for snowmen, but if we’re determined enough, there should certainly be enough for a snowball fight.”  At that she receives cheers.  “The storm will be here soon, though.  So today will have to be our last class for a while, since about half of you live at the other house and it probably won’t be safe for you to walk over here tomorrow.”

After the nods of understanding, the class dons their coats and sweaters before Clara leads them outside.  She watches them scrape together handfuls of snow to ball up and launch at each other.  They laugh as they seek shelter behind rocks and fencing.

Glenys’ question still follows her.  Tragic endings are so often considered the more realistic endings because events allowed to run their course without interruption always end in death.  Life always ends in death, it’s a lesson everyone learns early on.  What other ending could there be?  How could it ever end well?

A snowball to the side of her face breaks Clara from her thoughts.  She turns to see Megan looking slightly mortified, but only reaches down to gather her own snow, laughing at the young girl’s worry.  As she chases after her student with a handful of snow, she thinks that fiction isn’t held to the laws of reality, of course it doesn’t have to always end badly.  But on the same level, it’s silly to try to apply terms of fiction to her own, real life.

But oh, how sometimes she wishes she could be a story.

***

That afternoon, her class having departed for the next several days, Clara makes her way back to her own room.  She’s not sure what she’ll do now that she doesn’t have a constant to her day.  She’ll be stuck inside the house like the rest of them, seeking shelter from the storm that’s fast approaching.  All she has left to entertain her are the two books.

And then there’s the Doctor.  The thought of being shut in with him for a few days fills her with an uneasiness she isn’t used to feeling in areas concerning him.  The changes in their relationship don’t feel much like changes at all.  In a way they’ve been like this since Christmas, only they used words other than ‘I love you’ and gestures other than kisses.  The only thing that’s really changed is that the fear of the ending hanging over them, the dream of her old and near death haunting them, has dissipated with the Doctor’s newfound optimism.

Will they take things past kissing and will it change things?  Clara shakes her head; there’s no point in worrying about it.  They’ve always been close, there’s no need for her to be concerned about a new type of intimacy that they may or may not share in the future.

When she opens the door to their room, there is no sign of the Doctor and Clara assumes he’s still in some other part of the household, installing windows.  She looks out through her own window and watches the snow as it continues to fall gently to the ground.  She could read while she waits, she’s about halfway through The Home of Winter and should probably finish it before school resumes.

Before she opens the book, her gaze falls on the Tardis and her curiosity rises.  She hasn’t seen the inside of the sentient ship since they crashed.  She hadn’t been able to go inside at first because there were toxic fumes.  Have they been cleaned away now?  The best way to find out would be to enter her, all Clara has to do is hold her breath for a few seconds to ascertain whether it’s safe or not.

She takes a deep breath and pulls the door open carefully, sliding inside, but she can quickly see that there’s nothing toxic about its environment at all.  She lets the breath out, breathing normally as she walks slowly through the Tardis corridors, savoring being home at last.  As she drags her hand along the wall, she can hear the Tardis hum quietly.

Soon the quiet hum is overtaken by a louder one, and Clara realizes that it’s the Doctor she’s hearing now.  She follows the sound down twists and turns, wondering for a moment how she was able to hear it from so far away.  Finally, she comes across an open door that leads to some sort of mechanical room.  “How many rooms does the Tardis have that are for flight and navigation?”

The Doctor jumps, clearly not expecting to hear a voice aside from his own.  He turns around to answer her question.  “Several.  Never got around to counting them.  She’s a complicated ship.”

Clara leans against the doorway, a small smile on her face.  “But you’ve fixed her enough that I can breathe here and not die.”

“Yes,” he answers as he slowly approaches her.  “The repairs have been going better than I had originally expected.  But she still can’t fly yet.”  His hands land on her upper arms.

“Still, it’s nice to be here again.”  She leans up on her toes to press her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

“Is your class over?” he asks.

“It is.”

“Then I can be done here for the day as well.  Why don’t we return to our room?  I’m sure dinner will be ready soon.”

She lets him lead the way back out of the Tardis, giving her time to reacquaint herself with the familiar halls and doors, the light of the console room that always felt comforting.

Back in their room, the first thing she notices is the way the snow outside is falling faster and that almost all she can see out her window now is white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember where that definition of the comic and tragic comes from, but I do remember that I read it in an article trying to determine whether Byron's Manfred was comic or tragic since the main character - Manfred - dies at the end, just as the prophecy in the play predicts, but he dies without any explanation at all. He simply dies declaring "Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die."


	13. before they get better

Clara stands in the main room, watching through the window as the snow swirls against the dark sky, the flakes catching glimpses of light from within the room.  Beyond that she can't make out anything.  Her whole world has narrowed down to this – a gray, cold, frightening expanse and this one house at the center of it.  She shivers even though she's standing only a few feet from one of the two fireplaces.  They're lucky, really, to have this place at all. 

She's spent the day trying to get as far through "The Home of Winter" as she can manage.  The prose is beautiful, but so far the winter the unnamed protagonist has been experiencing has been a quiet one with soft snowfalls and gentle winds.  As the day carried on and the storm outside got worse, the disparity increasing until – about a minute ago – she could no longer focus on the words.  Now her eyes seek as far into the horizon as they can before there just seems to be nothing.  And though it is only a storm, it feels like there is something out there in the invisible distance, waiting. 

The main room is filled with people trying to keep warm, but none of them are the Doctor.  Clara hasn't seen him since breakfast; it seems that part of her routine is unlikely to change for the duration of the storm.  Some of her students are here, though.  She saw Glenys in the kitchen when she passed it earlier, taking in warmth from the only other fire in the house.  Luc is in the main room sitting next to an intimidating woman, and Clara's pretty sure she saw Mai in here earlier. 

Idle chatter is being made behind her, but as the wind audibly picks up for a minute, whistling loudly at them like a threat, a silence descends as if they are all holding their breath.  Clara holds hers as well and backs away from the window. 

A door creaks open and everyone turns to look.  A woman, the Doctor introduced her to Clara a couple of weeks ago as Madison, pokes her head out, smiles for at the unexpected number of eyes aimed in her direction, and announces, "Why don't we have some dinner?" 

There's a shuffle of noise as people get up to form a queue.  "I thought dinner would start soon," a voice says next to Clara, causing her to jump.  She turns and has to look up at the profile of the Doctor standing next to her.  She elbows him playfully and he smiles down at her. 

"Been working on the Tardis all day?" she asks. 

"Most of it," he answers vaguely.  She shrugs it off, he's always vague.  "How's the book going?" 

"It's interesting.  Much calmer than the winter we're experiencing." 

"Give it time," he says. 

The vagueness of that statement leaves too many questions, so she brings it up.  "Do you mean this winter will get calm or that the book will get more chaotic?"  She's already assumed the latter – she knows how novels work – but she's hoping he'll say he was referring to the former. 

He frowns.  "Both, I suppose, but I meant the book.  I've never read it, but in my experience situations, whether they be storms or fights or supposed adventures, always get worse before they get better." 

She thinks he's probably remembering the disastrous end to their first three days on this planet, so she says, "Goes both ways though, doesn't it.  Things get better before they get worse."  She watches his frown deepen.  Jokes – bad idea.  It sounded funnier in her head.  "Okay, forget I said that.  There isn't any real order to life.  Good things happen, bad things happen.  They're all just... things.  And they happen." 

At _that_ he does smile.  the smile grows wider until it turns into a laugh.  "Oh, Clara," he says through the laughter that is heavy enough it threatens to pull him down.  It's all he can do just to hunch with the weight of it. 

"What?" she laughs. 

"Nothing," he replies through his joyful fit.  "Just... you." 

When they get their food she begins her way to where they normally sit, until she realizes he isn't following.  She looks back at him and finds him shifting awkwardly by the door.  Going back to him, she asks, "What's wrong?" 

His eyes don't focus on hers as he answers, "It's a bit crowded in here."  Clara nods and he finally makes eye contact before abruptly turning from her and walking out of the room. 

She follows him in silence, remembering the night she found him sitting outside.  They stayed out there all night, her asleep by his side.  The sounds of the main room and the kitchen fall behind her, fading as they ascend to a space even more isolated.  The sound of the wind outside grows louder as if to fill the void.  She can feel the difference in temperature too, bringing her arms in closer, missing the warmth of the fireplace downstairs. 

He holds the door to their room open so she can step inside, and they sit on their makeshift bed, eating their dinner side by side.  The tips of her fingers almost feel numb with the cold, but she isn't worried about it; and when she wiggles her nose a little, it sends a shock of cold to the rest of her face.  She's always liked that about winter, like a strange reminder of all her limbs. 

When she's finished eating she sets her plate in the corner of the room.  "I'll take it down in the morning," she says. 

"You're not going downstairs again?" 

She shakes her head.  "I think I'll stay in here for the rest of the night."  Her footsteps lead her back to the window.  Night has descended and she can't see much of anything at all through the dark blue.  It's a different kind of cold, an icier one, that finds her now.  It eats at her insides, freezing them until they are brittle, and she finally recognizes it for what it is.  Fear. 

She picks up the boards from before he installed the glass, and slides them into place, cutting off her view.  It won't be much warmer at all with them there, but it still feels like an added protection, another barrier.  When she turns back to the Doctor, he's still sitting on the bed.  He's pulled his journal out again and is writing something in it, a small lamp propped up on the other side of him that she assumes is from the Tardis.  She takes slow footsteps through the room so as not to startle him, and sits down by his side, catching a peak at his work.  He isn't writing, he's sketching again, and she watches in earnest. 

It's another one of her, this time of her standing by the window downstairs, and she wonders how long he'd been in the room without her knowing.  She leans into his warmth a little more, careful not to put too much pressure on his body and mess him up.  His hands are quick, translating the image to paper.  There's something strangely intimate about it, the way the pencil brings to life the curve of her hips, the length of her hair as it dusts across her shoulders, how he knows her so well. 

She balls her hands into fists, keeping them warm as she watches.  He doesn't say a word, just sketches the outline of her left arm as it hovers near the glass of the window.  He captures her emotions in that moment, the fear that she hadn't recognized yet, and the wonder.  The desire for something more, to walk out into the white and be enveloped by chaos.  The way the swirls of snowflakes and the whistling wind enthralled her.  He felt all of that from her, and she doesn’t know exactly how, but she wants to feel him like that too. 

So she unfolds her hands and places them on either side of his face.  The sound of his pencil ceases and she can hear it drop to the wood floor with the journal.  She doesn't watch it happen, just keeps her gaze on the blue of his eyes as she pulls him down into a kiss.  His tongue is in her mouth as he lays her down, or she drags him to the bed.  She's not sure which of one them is driving their movements. 

The kiss breaks and he leans away from her, catching her gaze.  She nods and he presses his lips to hers once more.  Her hands push off his coat, lift off his jumper and shirt, while his hands busy themselves divesting her of her clothing as well.  His lips move to her neck, kissing their way down as she threads her fingers into his hair.  His mouth finds one of her breasts, and when it closes around her nipple her moan is lost in the howling of the wind. 

The wind continues, increasing in volume and she briefly wonders if the storm is in the room with them, but where she was cold before, she's quickly growing warm now.  He moves down to her stomach and little shocks shoot through her, her hips begin rocking without her telling them to.  He kisses down her legs like he needs to reach every part of her, and she reaches out for him, needing more contact.  He returns to her, kissing her again. 

She holds his head in place, his lips half an inch from hers.  She can guess how he's feeling right now, but she wants to feel it for herself, to feel him like he feels her.  "Are you sure?" he asks, catching her wish through the close contact. 

She nods, but says "Yes" out loud a moment later, confirming it.  He kisses her again, leaning over her entire body, and she can feel something at the edge of her mind, a soft brush like wind against her cheek.  She pushes back, reaching for the wind, grasping it, holding on.  It pulls back, pulling her along with it like pulling her through the water of a lake.  When she emerges on the other side she is more immersed than ever. 

She feels it.  Feels him.  Feels the fear in the back of his mind that he's desperately trying to ignore, feels the joy that grips both his hearts as his hands continue to caress her.  She can feel his desire pouring in waves and knows that it matches hers. 

She can still hear the storm outside, can feel the way it bombards the house.  But right now she isn't afraid of it, now she feels only wonder as the Doctor enters her.  She wraps her legs around him, pushing him deeper, her arms grasping his back as her breath catches.  He rocks into her and the floor creaks the slightest bit, adding to the cacophony.  It plays like music to her, somewhere deep inside, nestled along with him and his emotions. 

One of those emotions floats along the surface and she grabs for it.  It's beautiful and discordant like the snowflake pattern she's tracing along his back.  It's vicious like the wind outside, howling in time with the creaking of the floor.  It surrounds her now – coming from him, coming from her – and she knows she would follow it anywhere. 

His hand reaches down between them, nearly breaking her hold.  He whispers words to her in a language she does not understand, but she can _feel_ their meaning.  Her heart swells with the rocking of his hips and she can feel everything that's pouring from his, can feel it beneath her fingertips. 

She bites her lip to keep from making any sound that could be heard by those downstairs, so he kisses her again, open-mouthed, like he can contain the sounds between them.  Like they're a circuit keeping everything to themselves, like a storm, the eye between them.  Despite the fast pace of her heart, she feels like they've found something calm and peaceful here.  Something warm in the night.

And then it breaks over her, enveloping her.  The emotion she'd been holding sinks into ever crevice, passes through every connection between them.  She feels him come too before she drifts away, back through the lake and emerges on her own shore again, the connection severed, and him still buried deep inside of her. 

He stays there for several moments as they breathe before pulling out and laying down next to her.  She rolls onto her side, looking up at him in the dark as he reaches for a blanket.  He covers them and pulls her into an embrace, kissing her forehead.  She feels a spark, the connection still faintly there, and lets it sit in her mind as she falls asleep to the sound of his breath. 

*** 

A loud crashing sound wakes the Doctor from his sleep and he sits up abruptly.  He looks around, finding everything to be exactly as it was before, and lays back down wrapping his arm around Clara once more.  Just as he is about to close his eyes, the silence is again broken, this time by the sound of someone screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discordant Snowflake as a band name, I'm calling it now.


	14. nature plays, nature wins

"Clara, wake up!" he shakes her shoulder gently and watches her eyes blink open even as she nestles further into their bed of clothes. 

She turns under the blanket, looking up at him.  "What's going on?" she mumbles. 

He smiles down at her, caught in a moment that should be blissful.  The smile disappears as he remembers why he needed to wake her.  "Something is going on downstairs.  Put on some clothes."  Standing up, he retrieves his own clothing from the scattered parts of the room.  His armor slides into place with his hoodie, but as he looks at her pulling on her own shirt, he knows that armor won't be the same anymore.  He won't be able to hold himself separate from her when he knows the feel of her hip in his hands, the way her fingertips traced along his spine, or the way her feet curled tighter around him in climax. 

She hisses as the cold air continually touches her cold skin and quickly pulls on a jumper to ward against it.  His boots on, he waits while she puts on her own shoes before grabbing her hand and leading her from the room.  They're running by the time they hit the stairs, rushing toward the sounds of shouting and high winds. 

As he turns the corner he sees what happened.  In the main room, the one large window – the very window he'd watched Clara gaze through just hours ago – is all but gone, shattered.  In its place is the storm itself, rolling into the room, a pile of snow that reaches nearly the height of the window.  In the snow is Madison, one of the people that had helped him carry the Tardis, digging frantically through it, her clothing soaked. 

His arm is tugged toward the scene as Clara rushes forward, the calluses of her hand brushing along his, her hand sliding free.  He follows without hesitation or thought.  Clara doesn't ask what Madison is looking for, she simply joins in, so the Doctor does.  "What happened?" 

Madison doesn't break her manic concentration as she answers.  "The window couldn't hold against the weight.  My sister..." 

She doesn't finish the statement, but she doesn’t need to.  Her sister is in there somewhere, buried.  He didn't consider that possibility.  He'd been warned that the winters were harsh, but he didn't even consider that this would happen.  Those windows were what the Tardis could provide in her condition, and he thought they would be enough. 

He helps with the search, the roar of the wind deafening.  He feels his hands begin to numb with the cold and can only imagine how the two humans next to him are faring, let alone the one they are searching for, the one not digging her own way out.  But humans are resilient, he reminds himself.  He has seen them survive so much worse. 

Finally, his hand hits something that isn't smooth, icy snow; something hard and smooth.  He grabs hold of it, pushing away everything he can to free it.  "I think I found her!" he shouts to the other two.  And he has, he knows for certain because he can tell now that what he found was a hand.  He grasps it firmly and pulls, revealing an arm.  Madison joins him, reaching past the arm and pulling something he can't see. 

A head peaks through the snow, Madison's hands just below it, gripped beneath her sister's shoulders.  The two of them stumble backward as they pull the woman free, the three of them landing of the floor with a thud.  He looks down at the unconscious person between them, noticing her face.  He recognizes her from somewhere.  Beth.  The woman he met in the garden.  The woman who warned him about the winter. 

"Doctor, what do we do?"  He looks up at Clara's questioning face.  Her clothes are soaked now as well and he knows his are too. 

No one will be able to enter the main room for the duration of the storm, meaning they will be cut off from one of the fireplaces.  The only other fireplace in the house is in the kitchen – the very next room.  But if the window here broke, that window can break too.  Upstairs might still be safe, but they wouldn't have any source of warmth or any guarantee that the storm won't get even worse than it already is.  The four of them are soaked through and will freeze unless they change their clothing.  They might freeze anyway. 

He stands up, stepping closer to Clara, wanting nothing more than to hold her.  Behind him he hears hushed voices and exclamations of curses.  Turning around he sees a gathering crowd of the other occupants of the house.  These people.  He can't fail them.  He won't. 

Feeling the edge of his own wet coat in his right hand he gets an idea.  He turns back to Clara.  "We're evacuating.  The Tardis may not be able to fly us away from here, but she can at least provide shelter during the storm.  If it comes down to it, I can activate siege mode.  We'll all be safe there.  So I need you to take everyone in this room there while I search all the rooms for anyone left behind."  He returns his attention to the worried crowd.  "You lot!  If you want to survive this, you will follow her." 

*** 

Clara looks at Madison, her periphery catching the Doctor dash from the room.  "Help me get your sister."  She bends down, lifting the unconscious woman's legs as Madison grabs her shoulders.  They heave the woman up and Clara walks backwards, heading to the stairs.  "Okay, everyone, follow me!  We're going upstairs to my room." 

"How is your room going to fit all of us?" a man asks.  "How is it possibly going to help?" 

Clara remembers him as the man who tried to fight Jacob.  Looking down at the woman she's carrying, Clara remembers her as the one who spoke with him afterward.  Madison's sister was the same person who led the new group here in the middle of the night.  She looks back up at the man.  "It will, you'll see for yourself in a minute." 

Once on their floor she tries to open the door without letting go of the woman's legs by attempting to turn the knob with her elbow.  After some fumbling, someone steps up to the door, opening it with ease.  She looks up to see the same man, his face much calmer than moments before as he stands aside and lets her and Madison carry her sister through the doorway. 

The Tardis waits in the corner just inside the room and all Clara has to do is nudge the door slightly, and it opens on its own.  "Thank you," she whispers to the ship. 

She watches the confused look on Madison's face, the look that clearly asks 'W _hy are we going inside this small box?' a_ nd she watches as that look changes to one of awe, taking in the wide expanse of the console room. 

"Yeah, it's bigger on the inside," Clara answers Madison's questioning gaze.  They carry her sister to one of the armchairs and set her down.  Clara turns to the rest of the shocked group.  "Please, come in quickly and don't leave this room.  You can sit anywhere you like." 

Ushering them inside, Clara peaks out the door at their small room inside the house.  She runs out, hurriedly gathering the spare items they kept there.  She gathers the clothing off the floor, knowing it might be useful.  She reaches down and picks up the Doctor's journal from where he dropped it the night before and snatches up her two books, adding them to the pile in her arms and rushing back inside the Tardis. 

Depositing them all on the floor next to the console, she looks around the room at all the faces looking up expectantly at her, their shock having already given way to their weariness and fear.  "It's going to be fine," she tells them.  "Trust me, this is the safest ship in the universe." 

The door opens behind her and she sighs in relief, watching the Doctor enter with about ten more people.  Her eyes follow the length of his arm to where his hand is holding her student's.  Luc looks lost, his eyes scanning the room until they light up momentarily and then turn to worry.  He tugs his hand free from the Doctor's and runs up the steps to where the two sisters are.  Madison opens her arms, enveloping the boy in a tight hug. 

The Doctor steps up to Clara, embracing her as well.  "Is that everyone?" she asks.  She doesn't want him going out there again. 

He nods.  "I need to get Beth to the sickbay."  She follows his gaze and realizes that Beth is the name of Madison's sister.  "And we need to change into dry clothing." 

"Luckily I grabbed all this, then." Clara points to the pile of clothing she had snatched.  She guesses that they aren't entirely necessary anymore, if the Tardis can off them glass windows, she can probably offer them a wider wardrobe selection again, but the warm and heavy knits have grown on Clara; they make her feel safe. 

The Doctor smiles at her.  "Then you best get to it."  He turns from her, heading up the stairs to help with Beth and Clara grabs what she needs from the pile and climbs down into the Architectural Reconfiguration System room, figuring it was the closest place she could get just enough privacy to change. 

As soon as she is in dry clothing, she climbs back up and sees the worry that still sits on everyone's faces.  A few of them whisper occasionally to each other, but most of them aren't saying anything at all, just listening to the wind dulled, but not blocked by the Tardis doors. 

Many of them still are still looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to assure them that everything will be okay, to _prove_ it.  She sees Glenys with her family.  Mai sits by herself, crying quietly.  Clara remembers what the young girl has been through and feels compelled to calm her, imagining how scared she must be to have survived all that only to die in the first big storm. 

But Clara knows they aren't going to die.  Not here.  She lifts up her copy of The Home of Winter and slowly approaches her, sitting down next to her without saying anything.   _"Time did not work the same way anymore,"_ Clara begins.  She clears her throat and raises her voice so anyone can hear.   _"He still had the rising of the sun to tell him when a new day had begun, but the information no longer meant anything to him.  He had no calendar anymore, just the snow-dusted pine needles that drifted to the ground.  He had no clock anymore, just the rumbling of his own stomach and the heaviness of his eyes._  

_"Last night he dreamt of flowers.  A whole field full of them.  And there was a bird there, a single red bird singing in the sunlight.  He had reached for the bird, but as his hand circled its feathered body its beak turned to ice, its feathers to snow.  The flowers beneath his feet transformed, their petals like drops of water.  They held their shape for a moment before_ _collaps_ _ing_ _, soaking him up to his knees in freezing water.  He had awoken in the_ _middle of the night to find that he had unconsciously kicked his blankets to the floor.  As he lifted them back to the bed, they were cold beneath his fingers and he fervently hoped they would warm with his body temperature before he grew too cold himself._  

_"In the morning he went for a walk.  He didn't need to forage for anything again yet, he just needed to get away from the four walls of refuge for a little while.  For whatever matter of time it would allow him.  Time ruled him now, he decided.  It was the only thing that made any sense.  He thought before that he could measure time, that he could cut it up into increments that suited him.  But Time had prove him wrong, Time had snatched away all the control he thought he had and trapped him in this prison._  

_"He brushed his hand along a tree, his fingers threading through newly grown pine needles and he froze in his tracks.  He knew that feeling.  He had done it before. He turned to look at the needles, they were long and brown and soft in his hands.  He blinked.  They were short and bright green.  He shook his head, the image lost."_  

Clara pauses in her reading, tears threatening to overwhelm her as she realizes what the protagonist was experiencing.  What he was remembering.  People leave, they die.  Sometimes she can remember the exact shape of her mother's eyes and she has to look at a photo.  She can still remember the sound of Danny's laugh, but how long would it be before she forgot?  How long after her death would the Doctor forget her?  Will she become this to him?  A flash of memory, here one moment and gone the next? 

She is drawn from her thoughts as she notices the silence around her.  A quick glance up tells her that everyone in the room is listening to her read, so she shakes her head, dispelling her thoughts, and returns to the book. 

_"A quiet_ _whistle_ _blew through the woods, circling around him and flying past like a long thread that extended as far before him as he could hear.  He whistled back to it.  The whistle grew in volume.  He whistled again, longer, whistling with it.  His whistle broke toward the end, stuttering.  He took a breath and whistled once more, breaking up his whistle as it passed between his lips.  It sounded like bird song."_ She pauses again, smiling slightly down at the page.   _"His whistle took on a tune, not anything particular.  He let the song go where it wanted to, let it blend in with the whistle of the wind._  

_"The wind.  He looked up in the direction the wind was coming from and watched as it picked up the snow from the ground.  He knew then what was coming.  The song ended suddenly as he turned and ran back to the cabin._  

_"As soon as he was back within its safety, he slammed the door closed and bolted it.  He closed all the window shutters and sat down on his bed,_ _gathering his blankets around himself."_ There are a few gasps, some sniffles, and at least one person's breathing starts going faster, prompting Clara to stop reading.  The protagonist had been experiencing such a tame winter for so long that Clara hadn't considered she'd reach a storm in the novel at such an inappropriate time.  Her thumb holds her place in the book as she looks it over, realizing something useful.  "I'm only halfway through," she says to the room.  "The storm isn't the end." 

She sees the Doctor enter the room once more, his gaze on hers.  She nods to him and continues reading.   _"He fell asleep like that and dreamt of nothing.  In the morning the storm still battered against his door, demanding entry.  He fulfilled no such request, instead he got out of bed and walked to his stove, lighting a fire and setting the kettle there.  Time ruled this place, but his life was still his own within its confines.  He would not cease to function._  

_"Sitting down at his desk with a cup of tea, he stared at the closed shutters before him, thinking.  He remembered the soft, brown hair and closed his eyes, tracing the hair to its roots, forming the outline of a face."_  

She closes the book over her thumb once more and turns to Mai sitting next to her, seeing that the girl had long since stopped crying.  "Mai, do you mind taking over?" 

The young girl's eyes light up as she retrieves the book from her teacher's hands and holds it open before her.  As soon as Mai starts reading out loud, Clara stands up, walking carefully and quietly up the stairs to the Doctor. 

"How's Beth?" she whispers. 

"Asleep," he responds.  "I'm almost positive she'll be fine."  Clara smiles, leaning against his shoulder and burying her face in his neck.  He wraps his arm around her, pulling her closer.  "How did it go here?" 

"They're scared," she tells him honestly.  "But they seem to be dealing with it well." 

"And how are _you_ dealing with it?" 

She hadn't thought about it, so she thinks about it now, trying to answer his question.  "The storm doesn't frighten me so much, especially in here." 

"The storm," he says carefully, frowning at the specificity of her answer.  "But something _does_ frighten you."  It isn't a question. 

"It's nothing, really," she answers.  Taking a breath she continues.  "The future worries me a bit, especially the part where I'm no longer with you." 

His grip on her tightens, telling her that he understood what she was saying despite how vague her words were.  "I'll always find you," he says. 

She smiles at his determination.  "I'm not sure what that means." 

"Neither am I, but I believe it.  I have to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song Let the River In by Dotan. This got angsty in a way I had absolutely no intention for it to, and for that I am sorry.


	15. where the heart is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Hell Bent Anniversary. I can't believe it's been a whole year.

Small metal clangs trace a path along the upper deck of the console room as small feet stomp upon it in a dash.  Clara looks up to see Mai running with no apparent destination.  Her eyes follow the girl as she weaves around one person, then another, before finally colliding with a body that had just stepped into the room.  Luc jumps back, his eyes needing a moment to focus on the person who had just run into him.

"I'm so sorry," Mai rushes to apologize, but then she realizes who she's talking to and her eyes grow wide for a moment.  "Luc!  Are you okay?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"And?"

"They're fine too," he tells her, his gaze on the floor.  "At least they were when I saw them last.  But I'm sure they're still fine."

It's morning for them now, outside the Tardis doors, and Clara assumes from his words that the boy spent the night sleeping in the corridor as several people did, rather than in the sick bay with the two women who had all but adopted him.  Her memory threads its way back to the very first day she met him and the hope he had of seeing his parents again one day.  She wonders how that hope has held up all this time and finds her feet carrying her up the stairs toward him and Mai.  "How are you two this morning?" she interrupts them.

Luc shrugs his shoulders again.  Mai looks up at her.  "I'm alright," she answers, her tone a mix of exhaustion and a determination not to appear exhausted.

Clara tries not to worry, it's been a trying time for all of them.  "Hey," she says.  "Why don't we all go make a visit to the sickbay.  Does that sound good, Luc?"

At that he raises his gaze and Clara catches a little life in it.  Whatever hope he had when they first met has not died entirely, though she wonders if it's taken on a slightly different shape.  "That would be nice."

"I can come too?" Mai asks, uncertain.

"Yep," Clara tells her.  She leads the two of them down the corridor, hoping that, at least for this morning, the Tardis won't decide she needs a challenge in finding rooms.  She runs her hand along the wall as she walks, trying to convey that.  In her head she makes a deal that the Tardis can play all the tricks she wants once this storm is over and everyone can return to their rooms.

They turn into the sickbay and are washed in a soft, warm light, like the Tardis is trying to recreate the peace of a calm and early morning.  Beth’s eyes widen when she spots them walking in and she straightens up in the narrow bed.  In a chair beside her Madison is fast asleep.  Beth holds a finger to her lips to remind them all to be quiet.

Luc runs in, his weight balanced on his toes as he attempts to not make a sound.  Mai follows in after him, but when neither child speaks a word, Beth decides to start the conversation.  “Luc, would you like to introduce me to your friend?”

Luc glances quickly at the girl and nods.  “Her name is Mai.  She’s in my class and she doesn’t have any parents either.”

Clara looks to Mai, but she doesn’t show too much of a reaction to his words.  The girl’s eyes are downcast, but she moves further into the space beside Beth’s bed.

“Hello, Mai,” Beth says as she reaches for the girl’s hand.  “Do you want to stay with us for a while?”

“Really?” Mai’s mouth grows into a huge smile, but her question was just a little too loud and Madison jerks awake behind her.

Beth doesn’t admonish the girl, just looks to her sister in the chair.  “We’ve got another one, Mads.”

Madison smiles like she’s about to laugh when she notices Clara standing in the doorway.  She stretches her limbs, stiff with sleep, and slides out of the chair into standing.  In three long strides she’s standing right in front of Clara.  “I wanted to say thank you,” she holds out her hand.  “For everything.”

Clara accepts the offered hand, shaking it.  “It was no problem.  We would never have just left her in there.”  Madison nods, turning slightly to look at the three behind her, causing Clara to grow curious.  “How did you meet Luc?”

Madison turns back to her.  “We found him on the road,” she says, almost a whisper.  “Beth and I, we’d already gained a few allies at that point, teaming up with whomever seemed like they wouldn’t be a problem.  There were six of us and we set up camp in a factory.  I was on watch that night and saw this little boy wandering down the dirt path.  His clothes were torn and he didn’t have anything else on him, not to mention he looked half starved to death.  I considered at first that it might be a trap, but I decided that the risk of it _not_ being a trap was so much greater, so I went down to get him.  He was terrified of me at first, and then he kept telling me over and over that his parents were ‘around here somewhere.’  We hadn’t seen any other people for days, so I doubted that was true.  But if I asked him where he remembered seeing them last, he just repeated that they were around somewhere.  So I brought him into the factory and introduced him to the group.”

Clara’s not sure how to respond.  No words seem good enough.  “That was brave of you,” she finally says, just trying to say something.

Madison shrugs.  “It’s a new world.  We’re setting the rules.  How we act now will decide the future, and I’d rather live in a world built on kindness than on fear.”

***

The Doctor leans into the panel, sunglasses at the ready.  All he needs to do is reconnect a single wire to a port and this section will be done, but he can’t manage to grab the wire.  He grips the wall tightly with his left hand and leans in even further, his shins holding him precariously.

“What are you doing?”  The voice startles him and he loses his balance, slipping a little on the ledge and knocking the breath from his lungs.

He scrambles back out of the panel and into the corridor, spinning around to see who disturbed him.  There’s a kid standing in front of him.  One of Clara’s students, he thinks.  “What do you want?”

“I just,” she starts, a little put off by his gruff response.  “I was curious about what you were doing.  I’ve never seen tech like this.  I want to know how it works.”

The Doctor eyes her for a moment.  Curiosity.  How human.  “What’s your name?” he asks, his tone considerably softer than before.

“Glenys.”  She sticks her hand out in greeting.

He shakes her hand quickly like he’s unsure of it.  “Well, Glenys, this is Time Lord technology, so a human brain like yours has almost no chance of understanding it, but…” a smile blossoms on her face with his words.  “I’d be happy to show you a little of it.”

“Thank you!”  She looks behind him.  “So what are you trying to do here?”

He turns back to the panel, motioning for her to come closer.  “You see that?” he asks, pointing to the wire.  She nods.  “I have to reconnect it to finally finish with this section.  It’s part of the circuit that runs between the console room and the engine.  Basically, right now, the Tardis is cut off from herself and can’t fly.”

“Tardis?”

“This ship, my ship.”

Glenys stares back down into the panel.  “I see the port it needs to connect to.”  She thinks for a moment, her face pensive.  “Maybe if you held onto me, I could lean in far enough to reattach it.”

“You’ll need the right tools.”

She glances back up at him, excitement in her eyes.  “And what are the right tools?”  He holds up his sonic sunglasses.  “Sunglasses?”

“Yes,” he responds as if it should be obvious.  “They’re _sonic._ Here.”  He places the sunglasses on her face without warning, his fingers on the frame.  “When you’re ready to reattach the wire to the port, just think it and the sonic sunglasses will do the work for you.”

Glenys frowns a little.  “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he says, spinning her around to face the panel once more.

She leans into the panel and, without warning, slides her body down over the edge.  The Doctor quickly catches her knees, holding her in place as she dangles within the Tardis’ walls.  “So this is a ship?” she asks casually.

“You might want to focus on the task at hand,” he warns, but after a moment he takes a vaguely annoyed breath and continues.  “Yes, this is a ship.  Best ship in the universe, if you ask me.”

“I knew you and Clara were travelers,” her voice is dulled and echoes inside the long, narrow space.  “I just didn’t realize you travelled so… strangely.  Done!”  One hand still holding a knee, he grabs her hip with his other hand and pulls her back up through the panel.  Back on her feet, Glenys pushes her hair out of her face and hands his sunglasses back to him.  “I used to want to travel.”

“Really?”

She nods, but her eyes flick up to the ceiling as she elaborates.  “Growing up I used to dream of reaching the stars.  I even declared once that as soon as I was old enough I was going to join a research vessel and see the universe.  I knew what it meant, that I’d have to leave all of this behind, everyone that I know.  But it just seemed worth it at the time, you know?”  She doesn’t see his slight nod.  “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Oh, you never know.”

She looks at him with an expression he never thought he’d get used to seeing – a mix of resignation and determination.  “No.  Even if there were any ships leaving here, there’s too much work to be done.  Travelling isn’t really a priority anymore.”

“Perhaps, but this world might need help someday, it could use it now.  It can’t hurt to have friends on other planets while you’re trying to rebuild.”

“Relief efforts,” the look on her face changes to one of contemplation.  “Maybe, yeah.  It would take years for a ship to reach another planet and then for the relief ships to arrive, but chances are we’ll be rebuilding for at least that long.  Yeah, I can see that.  Maybe.”

The Doctor smiles and reaches out to her, quickly realizes he’s not sure what to do, settles for patting her on the shoulder, and begins to walk away.  Arawn may never be what it once was, but it still had a future.  The planet was still filled with artists and scientists and adventurers, what else did it need?

***

Clara leans against the railing, watching their guests spread around the console room, eating a meal generously provided by the Tardis.  Her own food is resting on top of one of the shorter bookcases, untouched.  Eating just didn’t feel right.  She’ll eat soon enough, she had decided, as soon as things feel more okay.

She feels a presence next to her, though she heard no one approach.  “Doctor,” she acknowledges him.

“Clara,” is his mirrored reply.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye before turning to look at him fully.  “I think that storm might be winding down finally.”

“The storm, yes.”  He’s smiling that particular smile she’s learned means he’s trying to hold back a certain piece of information that isn’t entirely necessary, but would at least provide the whole picture.

“But you’re happy about something else.”

He leans forward and kisses her briefly, before pulling back only a few centimeters.  “Am I?”

Making no move to put anymore distance between them, she answers.  “Yes.  There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

“Hm.”  He takes a deep breath.  “I wasn’t going to say anything just yet, because I don’t know how certain it is, but I think – I might have – finished the repairs.”

“What?”  Her head does jerk back this time out of surprise, but she can’t hold back the smile that’s forming on her face.

“It’s not a guarantee,” he warns.  “But we might be able to be on our way again by the end of the week.”

Lost in thought, she reaches for her plate.  Is she ready to leave yet?  Her time here might have begun like a nightmare, but she’s built something since then.  She takes a bite as she thinks over the experience, the people she’s befriended, the things she’s learned.  But there’s still a whole universe out there waiting to be explored.  This world has been a great comfort to her, but perhaps she feels ready now to take that comfort on the road with her and experience new sights and cultures once more.

Her eyes flick around the Tardis like she’s seeing it again for the first time in ages.  “Home,” she says simply, hoping he understands her.

He does.  “Home,” and his smile lights up the air around her.

Home for her is this Tardis and the Doctor and the unknown universe before them.  She’s ready for that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Remember how I got into grad school earlier this year? Well that is what has kept me so ridiculously busy that It's taken me five whole months to update. But here we are, finally with a new chapter. Though I have seminar papers to write, so I won't have another chapter up for at least a few more weeks.


	16. the waking of the world

The lack of wind is not something she had expected.  As Clara steps out of the Tardis and into the room, of all the things for her mind to focus on it's that instead of the whistle of a winter wind, there is only silence.  The window in their room is still intact, a soft, gray light shining through it.  The only other thing she notices in the room is the cold.  But a few steps in the floor creaks beneath her feet, and the cold, gray room seems to wake up with the reverb. 

As if proof of life within the room, more people stumble out of the Tardis behind her.  She expects whispers, conversation, sighs of relief, but it is only the sound of footsteps on wood and the occasional creak of old floorboards that announce the waking of the world.  Half-spinning so she's facing the door, Clara watches the cautious and concerned faces pass her on their way down the stairs.  _This is their_ _home_ , she thinks.  But then she thinks that this has been her home too and she follows them. 

Shadows encompass much of the stairwell, but where Clara is used to seeing sunlight splash in through the doorway to the main room, just past the landing, now there's just more shadows.  She hears the gasps before she reaches the last step and stands a little straighter, steeling herself for whatever wreck those in front of her have found.  A part of her, perhaps, tries to walk a little slower, but her pace doesn't really ease or quicken in anyway that she can notice, her feet only carry her in to the main room. 

Where the window had stood, wide and watchful, there is now only a mountain of snow, thick and cold and gray in dim light.  The occupants of the house gather around it, staring at it with something akin to numbness.  Clara hears the creak of wood behind her and turns around to see Madison, shoulders squared, set off into the kitchen. 

A moment later Madison comes back out carrying a large metal pot.  She walks precariously atop the snow that had buried her sister only a few days earlier, her feet sinking in a few inches with each step.  Once balanced at the top, she sinks knee deep, causing Clara to jerk forward, afraid for a moment that Madison might fall.  She doesn't fall, she doesn't pay the icy snow much mind, instead she digs the pot into it, shoveling a large chunk to the side.  "We have to get this snow out of here," she declares to the room, "before it warps the wood anymore than it likely already has."  She shovels a few potfulls more to the side.  "But not with your hands.  That glass is in here somewhere." 

Glenys is the first to go back into the kitchen, a line following her moments later.  Clara is about to follow as well when a few more figures come down the stairwell.  Beth is at the front with Luc holding onto a fistful of her shirt as he walks alongside her, the Doctor and Mai just behind.  In Beth's right hand is a large, thick coat, which she begins to put on when she reaches the opening to the main room, causing Luc to let go. 

"Aren't you supposed to be resting?" Clara asks of Beth in disbelief.  Her gaze flickers up to the Doctor. 

"Don't look at me," he replies.  "I'm not a practicing medical doctor.  I can't make her stay in bed." 

Beth's attention is fixed on the slowly diminishing mountain of snow where a gap at the broken window has now appeared.  "I can't just lay in bed when there's work to do.  We don't know how the other house has fared.  I have to go over there and find out if the situation is worse than we realize, or if we can get some help with this here.  I don't know how we're going to explain that we were all saved because you have a box with room for thirty people and a sick bay." 

"More than that," the Doctor mumbles. 

Beth glances at him curiously.  "Like I said, this may be a bit much to explain." 

Clara considers asking Beth to not bother trying to explain it at all, hoping that maybe they can get away with not having to give out all the information that they had been withholding, like time travel.  She chooses not to say anything yet, deciding that she'll deal with it when the time comes. 

It's as she's thinking about this that Beth marches off like she's on a mission, and climbs the pile of snow.  Clara smiles weakly at the Doctor, knowing that she'd better follow Beth, and turns away from him standing there with Luc and Mai. 

The cold seeps through her shoes and she wishes she had thought to wear something water resistant, but Beth is already on her stomach, pulling herself through the small hole.  Clara is right behind, her fingers digging reluctantly into the ice, her knees wet.  When her head pops up on the other side, the sun is momentarily blinding. 

She stuffs her hands inside her coat, looking around at how the world seems transformed.  The road is seemingly gone, glistening, unmarked white snow in its place.  The fence around the garden still stands, sticking up in a way that seems shorter, for the ground is falsely raised by the snow that sinks beneath their footsteps. 

Clara steps to Beth's side, the other women still taking in the new winter scenery.  Her eyes shift to Clara silently, and the two of them continue their journey across the road, their pace slowed by the give of the snow beneath them.  Beth knocks on the front door of the house as Clara looks up, taking in the dimness through windows that at least don't appear broken. 

The silence that follows the knocking is terrifying, Clara's ears straining for any little sound to signal life within the walls of the house.  Her heartbeat speeds up as her brain starts sorting through possible scenarios, trying to ignore the bad ones and focus on the ones where everyone is okay, even if they had to leave the house for a little while.  After what may have been 30 seconds or several minutes, she finally hears footsteps echoing down a hall. 

The door opens and Franz stands on the other side.  His face becomes a question.  "Beth?  Clara?" 

Beth places a palm on the door frame, leaning into it.  "We're here to check on you guys, see if everyone is okay." 

"Come in," he says after a second and steps aside.  "Everyone is upstairs." 

As Clara steps through the doorway she realizes that there doesn't seem to be any change in temperature.  The entrance of the house feels just as freezing as the outside.  He leads them up the stairs and the pale orange walls look even paler than they ever did in the gray light.  As the landing at the top of the stairs comes into view, she can see a lump of cloth on the floor that she quickly works out is someone covered in blankets. 

Once at the top of the stairs she can see that the covered person is not alone.  Lumps of blankets hiding people are scattered all over the floors of the second story.  In each room she sees more people curled up, huddled together trying to keep warm. 

Franz leads them through the second doorway on the right.  "Clara and Beth are here," he says to the room. 

Penny is sitting in an interior corner, Deryn and her daughter on one side watching them, Isaac asleep on the other side.  "So you made it," Penny says, exhaustion flowing through every word. 

"We survived," Beth responds just as tired, and Clara thinks they should probably return soon so Beth can get some more rest. 

"We weren't sure you would," Deryn speaks this time.  "I heard that window breaking from over here.  I was afraid you'd all freeze to death." 

"How did you manage?" Penny adds on. 

Beth glances at Clara with what could almost be an apologetic look.  "That's quite a story actually—" 

"And one I should probably tell," Clara quickly interjects before she second guess herself.  Beth, Franz, Penny, and Deryn all fix their eyes on her.  "Um," she pauses, trying to work out her words. 

"It's that box of yours, isn't it," Penny comments. 

Clara's eyebrow arches up in a cautious question.  "Why do you ask?" 

Penny shrugs her shoulders.  "It's not suspicion, exactly, but I've had my guesses?  Ever since your Doctor brought it here with the help of three others.  I wondered how it ended up in the woods in the first place, why it was so important, and why you didn't have some other more efficient way of carrying your belongings.  He apparently even had some canvases in there that he gave to Tobias.  So what is in there?  Some sort of new technology?" 

"Oh, you have no idea," Beth mumbles. 

"Uh, yeah," Clara answers.  "It's a specific tech, not from around here, us being travelers and all that.  It's good with, um, space for lots of people.  Warmth.  Food... Transport," she finishes quietly.  "We really just wanted to make sure you were all okay over here." 

"It's cold," Deryn tells her directly.  "And we're running short of food sooner than expected." 

"We're trying to clear the snow out of the house," Beth tells her in turn. 

"Well, now that the storm's over," Clara tries to add, "I'm sure we can get working on all of those things.  We can collect more firewood and maybe set up some other heat sources, get the food sorted out.  But we should really get back, Beth, because you still need to rest.  Everyone's alive." 

Beth deflates slightly as she seemingly accepts that Clara is right, and that they've accomplished what they set out to do.  She nods to Penny and then turns to Deryn, "It was nice meeting you." 

"You as well," Deryn smiles back. 

Clara awkwardly nods at everyone before turning around and waiting just a second to be sure that Beth is following her before heading back down the stairs. 

*** 

The Doctor leaves Luc and Mai upstairs as he heads back down to quickly check if Clara has returned yet.  The pile of snow in the main room is already half its original size thanks to everyone's efforts, and its shorter height enables him to see the two women step over the window pane and back into the house. 

She looks surprised to see him there waiting and smiles as she steps up to him.  "What's up?"

"Remember how I said before that I might have finished the repairs?"

"Yes," she responds with a small downturn of her mouth.  "But surely we aren't leaving just yet, not while everyone is still trying to clean up after the storm."

"Not at all," he quickly assures her.  "But I do think now is the time to test the repairs, make sure she's back in working condition.  I have a particular trip in mind, a small errand to pick up some window glass that won't break during a storm.  Maybe I few other items as well, food and whatnot.  At the very least to repay these people for their all the help they've given us."

"That sounds great!  When do you plan on going?"

"Now, if you're ready."

Her head tilts to the side as she considers this.  "You want me to go with you on a quick errand?"

"Yes," he breathes.  "You see, I once met a little girl and told her she could travel with me.  But the Tardis was damaged and needed to go into flight in order to keep from overheating, so I promised the girl I'd make a quick trip and be back in five minutes.  When I came back twelve years had passed.  And then a day later I took off again for a quick trip after the Tardis' repairs, but when i returned a second time an additional two years had passed."

"And you're afraid that if you go on this small errand now, you'll come back to find that fourteen years passed in your absence."

"Or worse," he sighs.  "I've lost you enough times, I'm not quite up to taking silly chances to lose you again."

"Alright," she nods, "Let's go.  But we better make it back on time.  I have a class to teach."


	17. some immortal verse

Fifteen Hours Before the Earthquake 

The Tardis hummed softly in the calm, dim glow of the lights she'd chosen to simulate nighttime.  The Doctor hummed in response as he absentmindedly strolled down the corridor.  A soft breeze drifted down, catching in his hair, and dragging his attention to the console room.  As he stepped onto the middle landing of the stairs, he could hear faint music coming from somewhere outside.  One of the Tardis doors was open, and a small figure was sitting, back against the door frame, gaze on the world beyond. 

He approached Clara without a word, opening the other door, and sitting down beside her.  "Can't sleep?" 

She shook her head.  "No," she all but whispered.  "I like it here.  It's so alive." 

His gaze followed hers to the street before them.  It looked different at night, the buildings somehow seemed smaller, less significant, but the street seemed so much larger.  That was probably his favorite thing about the night.  There were planets where it was always night, but it was night's relation to day that made it special.  Somewhere down the street was a party, he figured; that was where the music must be coming from. 

The tune was distant, its bass barely drifting all the way to them.  It left a slight vibration along the pavement, rolling below his and Clara's feet.  They were sitting close enough that her arm brushed against his.  She shifted closer, leaning her head on his shoulder and taking a deep breath. 

The party would likely end soon, but he was content to sit here with her in the soft, night air.  He leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes, listening to the distant music and feeling her hair against his cheek. 

***

_The floorboards were still cold beneath his feet, the walls still freezing to touch, but none of them hurt anymore.  They didn't seem as rigid, their dimness seemed less like the closing of the world and more like the pre-dawn light._  

_He pulled open a shutter, struggling to free it from the wood that had swelled around it.  As soon as it was pulled to the side, a drop of water fell from the top of the window, landing on the sill.  He watched a tree branch a few feet from the cabin, the snow quickly falling as water to the ground._  

_Opening the door_ _, he had to push hard to get it to budge from where it had frozen shut, blocked in.  The sun_ _shone_ _brightly, turning all the white around him into gold.  The sea of snow didn't seem so large as it melted and mobilized.  The horizon seemed to be growing closer._  

_He stepped out, the snow giving way beneath his feet.  The air was still cold, but the sun helped.  In the distance he heard something small, high-pitched.  The sound broke up, switching notes.  A whistle.  Birdsong._  

Clara stares at the final, blank page, after all the text had ended, before folding the book closed.  She takes a deep, contemplative breath, before looking up at her students.  Their expressions were all difficult to read, many of them caught somewhere between thought and relief. 

"So what do we think?  Comic or tragic?"  A smile forms in the corner of her mouth as she watches their eyes light up in memory of the conversation they had what seems like a lifetime ago, when it could really only have been a few weeks at most. 

"Comic!" Sara blurts out. 

Clara's smile grows to consume her face, both at the abruptness of Sara's answer, and at the fact that the little girl feels comfortable enough to speak aloud in class.  "Why do you think that?" 

"The birdsong is kind of funny." 

"How so?" she asks, genuinely curious. 

Henry steps in to help his sister, "I mean, it does kind of come out of nowhere.  The author could have interfered." 

Clara opens her mouth to question him, but Mai gets there first.  "But why would he need to?" 

"That's a good question, Mai, and good points from Sara and Henry.  That's something to think about – why include birdsong at the end of the novel?  Is it deserved?  Does it need to be?"  The last question almost catches in her throat. 

"I think," Glenys says, "That the birdsong is meant to symbolize hope.  After all, he'd been alone the whole novel, and the birdsong means that maybe he isn't alone anymore." 

"What do you mean by 'deserved?'" Aiden asks. 

"Well," Clara answers, "In this case 'deserved' means that the author worked his way toward its inclusion during the novel, that it didn't just occur out of nowhere." 

Dylan raises his hand before speaking.  "I think it was deserved.  He talks about birdsong during the book, and imagines it at one point.  And we don't even see a bird at the end, only hear it, so it might not be there at all.  I don't think it came out of nowhere." 

"We don't see anyone," Mai adds.  "The man is still alone." 

Clara swallows.  "So what do we think?" she asks again.  "Comedy or tragedy?" 

"Tragedy," Luc answers softly, a chorus of nodding heads around him. 

"But not a bad ending," Glenys hesitantly says.  "We don't know that the bird isn't there.  He hears it, and this time it isn't a storm.  I still think it's hopeful, like a tentative hope.  He's alive, the winter is ending, and things might be getting better.  It's a natural ending, a tragedy, but it isn't totally sad." 

*** 

Her arms embrace strong shoulders as Penny squeezes her back.  Pulling away from the hug, Clara looks at her, fighting back tears.  "Thank you.  You have no idea how much you've done for me, all of you," she says, her eyes glancing at Franz and Tobias as well.  "You all gave me so much." 

"Nonsense," Franz says, his attention flitting to the floor. 

Clara fights back a smirk.  "You literally saved my life when I first came here." 

"Yes, I suppose I did." 

"And you, Tobias, don't let Penny hear this," she jokes, knowing the woman has been standing and listening this whole time, "but you are wasted in that kitchen.  You're good with those kids, and someone needs to take my job." 

"I hadn't ever thought I'd be a teacher." 

"There was a time when I didn't think I'd be one either. I think you'd be great at it, if you want. And, between you and me, I'm pretty sure I saw the Doctor already leave behind some more supplies for you." 

"Really?" Tobias says, gaining a look of joy and determination. "Yeah, I think that'd be good." 

"What are we going to do without you?" Penny asks.It sounds like  _I'll miss you._   It sounds like  _goodbye._  

"Oh," Clara whispers, losing the battle as a tear rolls down her cheek.  "I think you'll do just fine." 

Outside, a small breeze whistles through her hair, but the sky is bright and clear.  As the whistle dies down, she hears a small tweeting, a tune.  Looking to the garden, she sees it.  There, on the old wooden fence, sits a small, red bird, singing away in the afternoon. 

It takes off, flying into the forest, and she smiles.  Maybe spring isn't too far away. 

Their room in the house is empty, the floor clear of their makeshift bed.  She walks up to the window, tapping on the glass.  Despite its still-clear view of the path between the two houses, the glass is thicker and harder than it had previously been.  Both houses now are quite secure and stocked with long-lasting supplies, should another storm catch them before they're ready. 

The sound of clanging steps catches her attention and she turns to see that the Tardis door is open.  She breathes in deeply, trying to commit the crisp, familiar air to memory, before letting her feet lead her home. 

With one last glance at the room that had seen her through more than she had expected, she shuts the door, spinning around to face the console.  She shakes her shoulders slightly and takes a step forward.  "So where are we off to now?" 

The Doctor glances at her through the corner of his eye, a small smile threatening to form. "All finished with the book?"  She nods.  The two books were left in the main room of the house.  Originally, she'd planned to take them with her, but in the end she decided that the school needed them more.  "In that case then, somewhere not too far, I don't think. There's something I want you to see." 

With a groan, the Tardis moves into flight, leaving the small bedroom behind like it had never been there at all.  They don't travel long, thirty seconds at most, before touching down again. 

The Doctor strides past her, heading for the door.  He stands with his back to it, facing her.  "I smelled a bit of salt in the air a little while ago, figured it wouldn't be that far away."  With one hand, he pushes open the door. 

As her eyes adjust to the sunlight pouring in, Clara realizes they've landed on a beach, just a few feet away from the ocean waves.  She smiles, skipping out into the sand.  "It's lovely." 

The air is warm on her skin and she quickly shrugs off her coat, tossing it back inside the Tardis.  The Doctor peers around them, noticing the lack of snow on the hills some sixty feet away.  "Ah, yes, might have moved a little forward in time.  Or a lot.  It can happen." 

She shakes her head, wondering briefly how the little community is fairing now, not so far away.  Probably having their dinners outside again.  Rebuilding may have even moved on to building.  Life doesn't stop.  "So, why the ocean?" 

"Well, I remembered the painting.  In the museum, when we first got here.  It's not the same beach, but..." 

"It doesn't have to be," she finishes for him. 

"Of course, it couldn't be like the painting anyway," he continues, nodding.  "Paintings are typcially just a moment, captured outside of time." 

"You mean the waves don't move." 

He smirks.  "The waves don't move." 

Stepping up to the water, watching the waves wash over the toes of her boots, she thinks about this.  "You know, maybe Argall was wrong.  In that poem?  When she tried to catch the waves?" 

"How was she wrong?" 

"My class," she recalls, staring out at the horizon.  "They thought that Argall was trying to stop the waves because she was trying to stop time.  Like, controlling something small in her life would let her control bigger things.  But she didn't need to stop the waves.  Sure, they keep getting swept back to sea, you can't catch them, but it's okay, because they always come back." 

"Sounds familiar," he mutters.

She holds out her hand to him without looking.  "Come on, stand with me."  Accepting the offered hand, he steps beside her, the waves just enveloping the bottoms of their boots.  "What happens now?"

"Time does, I think."  He tugs on her hand, pulling her to face him.  "Can't catch a wave."

Clara tries not to smile.  "But on a more literal note." 

"On a more literal note, I take you back to your apartment.  I'm sure you have work, friends.  And then..." 

"And then?" 

"After you're done with that we can go anywhere, do anything.  How does that sound?" 

"That sounds good," she whispers, leaning closer. 

"I had hoped you would think so."  He covers the remaining distance, pulling her into a kiss.  As his lips press against hers, she thinks of the first time - of all the times - that this planet gave them, the opportunity to stitch everything back together.  The future won't be held at bay and the bad things won't stop, but they found this together.  As they always would.  They'll move away and come back, like the waves and the shore, their steps mirrored.  Even at opposite ends of the universe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who made it through this journey with me!  
> If you just finished reading this chapter, let me recommend listening to Weather by Novo Amor; think of it like a credits song. I'll be back soon with an **epilogue!**  
>  The title is from a poem by David Jones - "The atoms of me/ and the atoms of you,/ will be ink one day,/ and paper and pen,/ and then, at last,/ we will be a poem/ a love song;/ some immortal verse."  
> Really, all of you who made it this far, with me dealing with depression and going into grad school, your support means more than you can know.


	18. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara learned something during their time on Arawn. What does that knowledge mean after Hell Bent?

Her fingers glide along the spines of the books as she walks the upper floor of the console room.  How long has it been since she's done such a simple action?  Why did she stop?  She should slow down more often, maybe, take a moment to breathe.  The metal floor is cold beneath her feet.  Why is she barefoot? 

That's when she remembers, when the wrongness of the situation sets in.  This isn't her Tardis, this is  _his_ Tardis.  The one she hasn't seen in years.  Her mind races, and if her heart could beat it probably would too.  Fortunately, in that moment she sees a head of familiar gray curls enter the room down below.  He looks exactly like she remembers and she feels herself calm.   _I must be dreaming,_  she thinks and she knows that it's true.  She hasn't dreamed of the Tardis before, of him, but she's wanted to for a while, just to see his face again, even if it wasn't real. 

"Clara!" he announces in delight, and she runs down the stairs to him, throwing her arms around his waist and holding him close.  "Clara," he repeats, softer. 

She sighs into his chest.  He's just as she remembers, the smell of him, the feel of him in her arms.  She's almost afraid of what will happen when she wakes up.  "Thank you," she whispers. 

His arms circle her.  "How are you here after all this time?" he asks, sounding far away, his head resting on top of hers. 

"It's a long story," she replies, smirking at the memory of dream crabs and Santa Claus. 

His voice is resigned when he speaks again, after a moment.  "Ah, so this  _is_ a dream." 

And that's not right.  She jerks her head up, accidentally hitting his out of the way.  "What?  You can't say that, this is  _my_ dream.  Dreams don't think that they're dreams." 

He grabs her shoulders, holding her without really moving away, as his eyes scan inquisitively over her.  "This is definitely a dream, but you also seem to really be here," he says to himself as much as to her. 

"So you're the real Doctor?" 

"As far as I'm aware." 

She shakes her head; that's such a thing he'd say.  His grip on her shoulders loosens and she steps back, surveying the Tardis more closely.  It still appears a dream-thing to her, both real and not real.  "And you remember me?" 

"I told you before, in the diner, that a thing could be reconstructed from the hole it left.  I think this place makes it stronger though." 

"Why?" she asks, though she also wants to ask  _this place?_  

"Possibly because there was a time when I remembered you, when I knew exactly who you are.  Time travel is always possible in dreams." 

"Oddly enough, I think that makes sense."  She touches a few buttons on the console.  It seems so real.  "What I don't get is how this is happening.  I can't think of anything I did to cause this, and I'm not telepathic.  Did someone do this to us?" 

"It's possible.  Could be Santa Clause again."  His eye catches her with a look of humor for a moment.  "There's probably something much simpler at work, though.  We both have Tardises, and it's difficult to overlook just how strongly our timelines are intertwined." 

"Entangled," Clara whispers without meaning to. 

The Doctor hears her.  "Yes, entangled." 

"So, despite our efforts," she turns to face him fully again.  "We're too connected to not be connected." 

"That hardly comes as a surprise.  Everything – Missy, the universe,  _Santa Claus_ _–_ has continuously conspired to unite us.  It might be the one constant in everything."  He reaches out, as soon as she's close enough, and gently places a hand on her cheek, like his arm is conspiring along with everything else. 

She leans into the touch and knows how right he is.  She's been pulled to every version of him, every face.  "I have lived and died so many times throughout your life, all to protect you."  She thinks of his face in the cloisters, the look in his eyes.   _Four and a half billion years._ "And I guess now you've done the same.  What happens to one happens to the other."  She can sense that she'll wake up in a moment. 

"Both keeping the same promise," he adds, standing closer now than she had realized.  "Both helping where we can." 

_Quantum_ _entanglement_ _?  It's when you can't describe the quantum state of certain particles as being independent from_ _each other._  

It hurt her to leave him.   _When_ _you separate an entwined particle._ But now she understands what he must have realized that night, as they stood under the stars on a distant planet.   _If you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected._   They have always existed together and they always will. 

And it can't be undone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is it, I'm not sure I'm ready for it to be over!  
> Thank you again for all your support!  
> Keep an eye out over the next day or so for my new fic **She Sought Death** , a post-Hell Bent murder mystery!


End file.
